Birds of Paradise
by Harlequin Sequins
Summary: Hanne Kessler knows the meaning of almost every flower in the world and longs to own a florist shop someday. But after she meets the charming Hans Landa, her mother's latest match for her, her comfortable haven starts to take a darker turn...Landa/OC.
1. I: And the Clock Strikes Twelve

**Author's Note: **This story is inspired by Christoph Waltz's extraordinary performance as Col. Hans Landa. I will be portraying Nazis as they were and, also, Landa as he was in the movie. I mean no offense...this is only a story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hans Landa. He belongs to QT!

P.S. Anyone else think that _I Never Told You What I Do For a Living_ by My Chemical Romance fits Hans Landa pretty well?  
Go on! Have a listen! :)

**BIRDS OF PARADISE**  
_by Harlequin Sequins_

(Set before the time of the events in Inglourious Basterds, 1939)

Once upon a time, in Nazi Germany...

* * *

Every human being that walks this earth has a story to tell.

Whether it be one of intrigue or torment or betrayal or love, it is always a story with a beginning, a middle and an end. It never matters whether the accounts are unclear, stretched thin over the vast sea of the time that has passed since the tale was told, or if they are as stark and vivid as a painting in their heads.

The deciding factor, on whether or not such a story will be known to the world, is in the hands of the world itself.  
If it would only listen, perhaps humanity would not be quite the destructive, impenetrable force it has become in the face of its own ruination.

I was young when my life _really_ began, the one which was preordained by God for me to follow. My parents had long since been nurturing an important relationship with a certain Heinz Schwartz, a young man who never spared anyone of his alluring good looks and was well-known amongst the rich kind of folk. There were less and less of them every day as the great shining citadel that was Germany was beginning to dim underneath the weight of recession, the cruelty of the guilt of a crippling war and the bitterness which the loss of that same war entailed. Our country was ripe for rebellion against those who had shattered its great pride; little did I know that only a few months would pass before the _Vaterland _saw its first light of hope and that their man-made Messiah (who would begin the war) was to lead them into the promised golden age. In which the Aryan race would rule all and suffer the great loss no more.

He would ultimately fail.  
But this defeat would not come for many years.

As it was in 1938, we were all blissfully ignorant to the horrors which would soon come knocking on our door. My mother's sole obsession was introducing me into the good society of the rich folk as my father's rank in the SS reached a comfortable equilibrium, important in his officer's title but rather unknown amongst the high command. As our family inherited the lifestyle which came with my father's rank, my mother decided that launching me into the grand kingdom of deceit and facades and afternoon parties so that I, too, could find myself the most wonderful husband was beneficial for both my reputation and her own. Satisfactory (money-wise, at the very least) would not do for my mother as the finest of everything was necessary for her minuscule world to thrive.

My father begged indifference to my marriage, as he recognized the independence of a woman was far more important and was much too involved in the progression of his country's rise to power; he was, at the time that I came in contact with the catalyst of my new life, gathering funds to help me establish my own flower shop.

Mother insisted. I could only guess that she supposed she had the money, the wits and the communicative skills enough to deprive me of my womanly independence within a month of our debut.

She was completely right.

For it was in the spring of 1938, the very same year in which we involved ourselves in the rich folk's society, that brought me to Hans Landa.

Handsome, but chilling.  
Charming, but also cold.  
A dormant monster trapped in the skin of a man, waiting for his chance to unleash its hell upon an unsuspecting world.

Hitler gave this monster a fighting chance, to really sink its teeth into human flesh, instead of the nonchalant cruelty disguised by charm and finesse and a misleading smile.

And so it began.

* * *

"No, dearest," my mother sighed as I chose a long, cream-colored evening dress from my open wardrobe. She elbowed me gently aside and chose a more fashionable choice of attire in its stead. "This one would suit you much better. Besides, look at it – it has your favorite pattern. You love flowers so much, so it would suit you well. Look here. They are carnations!"

"Those are not carnations," I informed her. "They are _peonies_."

She gave a wild sigh of frustration. "Oh, what's the _difference _anyway? A rose by some other name would smell as pretty, _ja_? Or was it a rose would smell as sweet? Oh, does it really matter?! A flower is a flower in my opinion. No need for all this _useless _classification."

Unlearned in the ways of Shakespeare's romantic musings and mostly immune to my mother's rather egotistical ramblings, I changed the topic of our conversation swiftly back to its origin. "Suiting me better and feeling comfortable are two different things, mother," I replied curtly. "And I would rather be comfortable in what I am wearing in a situation that is already very unpleasant to begin with."

She threw up her arms, a sign of resignation.

My mother was a rather vapid sort of woman. Looks and appearances were everything. A good set of moral values and even a touch of intelligence, however, were merely afterthought, even considered undesirable in her view. She cared only for the shallow exterior of humanity as she did not seem interested in digging deeper beneath the skin to see what was inside the being, what was more _important_ in life.

It was just too evident in every single detail of our lives, our wide expanse of differences. My mother and I, we both had twin vanities which my father had awarded us on our birthday (as we shared the date of our birth), small white structures with painted wildflowers that embellished the ornate, glossy crowns. They seemed the sentinels which guarded our separate personalities – hers was littered with all sorts of makeup and rich perfume and creams which fought against the cruelty of wrinkles; my mother was a narcissistic soldier, forever battling the phases of life and spreading the war against age into her impressionable friend's minds as well.

My vanity, to say the least, was sparse. It contained small pockets of lipsticks and varying shades of rouge, but it mostly remained empty and forgotten. My bookcase earned the most of my attention, filled to its wooden seams with books on every sort of subject there could ever be on plants – the meanings of flowers, a dictionary of herbs, the study of botany, guides on how to successfully grow vegetables in such a harsh, cold climate, as it was in Germany.

I was simply enamored with all things which grew from the earth, like the hands of God rooted into mortal ground. Trees and flowers and even those little dandelions one could find nestled between the common sidewalks. They were my wishing petals – when I was a younger girl, I would steal them from their homes in the cracks of the city and blow the frail seeds into the wind. Wishes of all kinds, of pretty dresses and new dolls and a baby brother to play with when life was boring and I could find no vivacity in its daily goings-on.

Dolls and pretty dresses I was given an abundance of. A little brother, however, was a far greater expectation of mine which was ultimately failed on my parents' behalf.

My mother never seemed to understand it, my love of botany and horticulture. Of course, receiving flowers from my usually insensitive father on St Valentine's was a wonderful occurrence, however rare it was, but she found no reason to establish a life-long dream in such a trivial subject as _botany. _

It was much more rational to invest all my time in _marriage _instead. If I had not been the wiser, nor unswervingly knowledgeable of the time period in which we lived, I would have sworn my mother had walked straight out of a Regency ballroom – she had all the wits and petty endeavors of a 19th century woman of high society.

"Dearest?" She tucked a dark, feral curl of hers behind her ear, looking at me through the tall mirror by my wardrobe. "Have I told you about my new prospect for you? Oh, he is the finest prospect in the history of prospects! He is a very good match for you, I'll tell you that!"

I refrained from giving any outward signs of my already narrowed mind; I was very, very tired of mother and her endless line of _männer der woche_. "What was wrong with your old one?" I teased lightly. "Too fanatically _German_ for your taste?"

She scoffed, waving one delicate hand and missing my sarcastic remark completely. "Oh, what a sure _verlierer _that one turned out to be! _Herr _Ulrich informed me that he was quite the swinger and I did not want that sort of filth in my familial connections. Because the only thing worse than a swinger and a cheat, Hanne, is a_ cheating swinger."_

Her entire body seemed to convulse at the mentioning of such a sinful word. For a moment, she arranged her curls and pinched her cheeks to give them a feverish sort of glow. A sigh escaped her, one of contentment as the effects of the word dissipated, and she glanced briefly over her shoulder at me. "Come, darling. Have I told you about him?"

"No, I don't think you have," I replied as I settled down before my sparse-looking vanity and reached for a tube of Oxblood-colored lipstick. For a moment, I matched her gaze in my own mirror. "Enlighten me."

As I applied the lip color, she began to swoon. "Oh, Hanne…he is the most handsome man I've seen yet. He has since applied into the _SS__, _which is very good for you as this means he will not be just another unemployed bastard. He is also the friend of a great man, whom may have been a little closer in age to you but he is regrettably taken by another girl. Nonetheless! Heinz Mendler, he is…the friend, I mean."

"Closer in age, _mama?_ You don't mean…oh, mama, you are quite desperate to have me hitched to whatever wagon comes along that is even satisfactory for you, aren't you? Despite how old and rusted it is!"

Her eyes glittered with indignation. "Oh, you are so picky! He is not yet fifty, don't you worry your head about that. I would say, since I am always very good at guessing ages, you know…oh, well, I'd guess only about forty-six. If he is anything more than that I will be very surprised."

"Forty-six, mother? I suppose, then, in your excitement over this new man, that you have forgotten to guess my age. It's twenty-three, if you were at all interested. That makes this new prospect exactly twenty-three years older than me!"

"Oh, you will hardly notice! He does not look his age, I will tell you that. Except for a small patch of gray at his temples, there is nothing else to prove that he is anything over forty at all! All great men do not look their age, I say," she paused, sighing happily as she congratulated herself with her newest pick. "And you should take care not to use that dangerous tone with me, Hanne! You are lucky that I am arranging these prospects for you at all, what with you being so damn spoiled!"

I could barely contain my exasperation at such a comment. "I would think that any young woman would want a man that will take care of her, not the other way around. He will be able to provide for me ten years before his health will fail him and I will become his personal nursemaid. Is that the sort of life you want for me?"

"Well, look on the bright side dear - you will not have to have that flower shop anymore, like your father first thought. What sort of married woman would keep a shop when she has a husband to entertain and, in your case, take care of?"

I turned in my seat, watching her from my perch at the vanity with great annoyance. "How many times must I tell you that I want to keep a shop regardless of whether I marry or not?"

"I have a very hard time believing you as it does not seem important, having your own business. Besides, Herr Hans Landa is very rich and very handsome and is the son of an important man, God rest his soul, who died in the first World War and left a handsome fortune to his only heir…you need not worry yourself with finances and such!"

"Herr _Hans Landa_?" I questioned.

"The man's name! He is my new prospect for you. It's a family name…his father was Hans Landa the first. This man is Hans Landa the _second_, which is very important you remember as they are two very separate men. Hans Landa the first was a soldier in the The First and Second Schleswig Wars, fighting against the Danish I believe, and our dear Hans Landa fought in World War I, too, which I think was against…the Italians? Oh, I was never one to pay much attention to history; there are more important things in life than studying the past! It doesn't matter much anyhow. But Herr Landa! Isn't it such a fine name for such a fine man?"

"I've never laid eyes on the old man, how can I judge him so thoroughly now? Besides, by your standards, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be some hateful _schwein_. I have proof as I have been blessed with a _geriatric_ patient on account of your poor taste this time around. Wherever did you find him, mother? A retirement home perhaps?"

Before she could conjure up a suitable reply for such a rude remark, the door groaned on its old hinges and my father walked in, looking fine in his polished suit and burnished black shoes. He sighed, just as displeased with all the needless socialization as I was…if not more.

"Aren't you _ready_ yet?" He hissed, approaching the wardrobe mirror to straighten his bowtie and slick back his dark greased hair. "I've been ready for hours and you two have not even applied your rouge yet!"

I couldn't help but laugh as I reached for my perfume. "Father, it hasn't nearly been an hour." He tugged a little roughly on the lapels of his overcoat.

"Yes, well, it feels like hours. You women are always so slow. Your mother the slowest of them all!"

The woman in question was much too enraptured by the sight of her own reflection to care much for her husband's apparent slight. Father huffed a little at the wasted opportunity of upsetting her and wriggled his moustache in a subdued fit of great dissatisfaction. However intense the fit had been (as father was a master at portraying his emotions without a care as to who it offends), he soon recovered from the small failure and recalled a sore subject which was ever so popular with me – the flower shop I had been so enthusiastic about opening. Every day he told me he was only a step closer to procuring the necessary funds for me; I tried to remain patient, knowing how difficult it was to open even a tailor shop in such a downtrodden economy as ours, but it grew harder with each passing day. Perhaps it was selfish of me to want my shop straight away, but if my father had ever found a good excuse to escape my mother as I had, he would have suffered the same sort of intolerance in waiting so long for it.

"Ah, Hanne, I have been informed by the bank that the loan has just been processed. Granted, you'll probably have to pay interest until you're an old, old woman with this economy the way it is, but it's a start, is it not?"

I leapt from my seat and threw my arms around my father's neck, a distinct cry of joy escaping me like a breath of wind. "Oh, this is such good news! I cannot thank you enough, father! How I can ever repay you, I don't know!"

"It's not me you have to repay at all," my father replied. My mother, who was at first completely uninterested, even outraged at such news, was suddenly ensnared by the ambiguous reply.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my brow furrowed and lips pursed.

"It was an older gentleman who paid for the last of it. Wasn't much, mind you, but it got the job done all right. Oh, what's his name…I clean forgot it…"

"_Herr Landa_?!" My mother inquired breathlessly.

"Yes, that's the one," he replied, snapping his fingers as if to catch the epiphany with an air of finesse. "Said he'd buy the last of it if you'd accept his suit…or something as sickeningly charming and old-fashioned of that sort. God knows what girls do these days with men. Carriage rides in the park have long since been out of style since I courted your mother, a big mistake in retrospect if you ask me. But I'm sure it was only on his young friend's urging that he did it. The man's never seen you in his life and his young friend, _Herr _Schwartz, is more a matchmaker than your mother here…But I daresay, this Herr Landa here has enough charm to have any lady he wants in his bed and have another lined up behind her just as pretty and willing as the one before! Mark my words, dear Hanne...this one's a swindler. I can smell it...his intentions, they're too artful. His design is a suspicious one."

I refrained from issuing a sarcastic response and looked briefly at mother, who was practically brimming over with such excitement that could not be contained. Father shrugged his weary shoulders, realizing his warning had been entirely ignored and heaved a great sigh at the silliness of the whole situation. Once mother had her eye on one man, it was like pulling teeth to get her to see the truth of his ways until she saw them for herself (and even that was hard to accomplish!).

"It escapes me why two grown people would toy with other people's affairs. It's none of _Herr _Schwartz's business whom Herr Landa marries, isn't it? It's the last thing on the man's mind! He's been enlisted into the SS, a hard feat mind you, and has no time for wives, to be honest." His finger was promptly raised and pointed in mother's direction, who seemed surprised at such an accusatory gesture, although I was surely not. "And _you_, Hannelore, you've got no right to be '_finding prospects'_ for poor Hanne here! She's a grown woman who knows what she wants in the world and doesn't need your petty, useless squawking about marriage and fine young men to distract her from her goals. She's an independent woman of the Third Reich now…no need for a husband at all. Especially that cunning snake-charmer you've got your petty little eye on! If she was to marry anyone at all, it would only do that the finest Aryan, of pure blood, would have her hand and deserve her in my view...with blond hair and blue eyes! We must preserve the purity of our race."

"Oh, Wilhelm, you're a simple man! Don't you want a grandson to bounce on your knee and go fishing with and spoil at Christmastime? Well, there's no way you'll get one of those by promoting lifelong chastity, especially with such standards! All the blonde-haired, blue-eyed men of any real importance are married by now. Besides, a woman has to settle down young, find her place in the world with a man beside her, or else she will end up the laughing stock of the lot if she doesn't! You don't want that for Hanne, do you? To be the laughing stock? Well, do you? Besides, what do _you_ know about marriage and love and the importance of a good match?"

"It's a good thing I don't," he replied scathingly. "I'd be rounded up with the rest of the homosexuals and those _schwein _Juden, bound for the camps, if I dared act like some matchmaking _dummkopf_."

Father gave a hearty snort and walked out of the room, grumbling to us that if we were not ready in ten minutes he would drag us out to the car by our curls and wouldn't be at all merciful about it either.

I, on the other hand, was much too happy to pay much attention to his empty threats. And mother was still much too busy occupying the largest lot on cloud nine to care much either.

* * *

It was the birthday party of one Herr Schwartz which we were invited to, the last _formal_ social gathering I'd attend as a woman of unemployment and the first which marked my acquaintance with my mother's new favorite, and the host of the event, Herr Landa.

We were invited in by Schwartz himself, who wore a black formal jacket and matching black trousers, hoisted over his waist and held in place by equally simple black suspenders. The man was a portrait of the dark sort of good looks his father, the late _Herr _Hans Schwartz once had. His hair was as black as the night sky, not yet tarnished with the threaded silver of telltale age. His eyes were dangerously dark, like the _Juden, _but there was a considerable amount of good-intentioned German pride in them which betrayed all nuances of the Jewish race and religion.

He greeted my father with a suffocating hand shake, one that would have rendered my hand crippled for the rest of my life if he had inflicted it on me. "_Standartenführer _Kessler! _Frau _Kessler! You came! I am thoroughly surprised."

"Oh, dear _Herr _Schwartz, I hope it is a pleasant surprise that we are here." My mother quipped flirtatiously. Father's eyes rolled in their sockets at her ridiculous antics.

"Yes, very pleasant," Schwartz assured her, then turned his dark, dark eyes on me. "Ah, so you brought your Hanne with you, _ja_? Such a pretty girl, isn't she? Pretty enough to deserve _my_ _friend_ I'd say."

_Dear God, _I mused, smiling politely at the ostensible compliment, which came across more unnerving than it was intended. _Someone should really think about giving this man an occupation. Being the proud friend of an SS soldier and having such a beautiful fiancé to be grateful for are simply not occupying his thoughts enough._

"I'd like to think so myself, young Heinz!_"_ Mother replied gleefully. "Speaking of friends…is he present?"

"Old Landa?" Schwartz seemed lost for a moment, searching the crowds of chattering people behind him. "Oh yes, he's here! Where is that poor fellow? Probably nursing a brandy somewhere in a corner. The ladies simply can't get enough of him! My dear friend can be quite the charmer when he wants to be, can have the whole room laughing or crying or frightened out of their damn minds in a moment if he wished it, such a marvelous charming man he is. But when his mind isn't set to it – well, then it's a hopeless business. He won't say a damn thing at all, even to please me."

"Aren't those the schemes of all men?" Father grumbled. _Herr _Schwartz laughed, misinterpreting my father's comment altogether, and he sent us on our way in order to greet the next swarm of guests that arrived on Herr Landa's doorstep.

It really was a beautiful place. Richly decorated with red Persian carpets and white veil curtains through which the vacant eyes of the windows watched the darkened world behind them. Family portraits lined an end table in the main corridor, the passageway which led into a variety of rooms – the first room on the left being the great room and on our right was the dining room. Before us lay the path to the kitchen and the enormous staircase, to which the bedrooms were located. More artwork was propped up on the walls of the surrounding rooms, Expressionist works of _Reiter _and _Kirchner _and _Mueller. _While my parents wandered into the great room to immerse themselves in the general affluent populous of Germany (as every last one of them, few as they were, had attended), I remained behind to puzzle over the bizarre paintings in the halls.

"Strangely beautiful, aren't they?" A smooth, yet demanding voice suddenly overwhelmed the muted hum of the chatter which flooded the broad span of the hall. I started, nearly toppling over the end table behind me and the scenic sort of flower vase which commanded the center of attention. It would have been such an atrocity to tip over that vase – the beautiful flowers it housed would have been in an even worse state of upheaval than they were already suffering.

A hand reached out to steady me and I followed the length of the arm to discover a handsome, though fairly weathered face. He was not particularly tall, perhaps even lacking an imposing physical stature at all. But in his formidable appearance he towered over me, the spark of attentiveness and charisma seeming to disguise something much more frightening behind its pleasant pretense. In particular, the origin of his power seemed to stem from his eyes – they were the color of the sea, wrapped in the cold, hard arms of some violent storm.

"Yes, they are quite…unique." I finally replied, as he seemed intent on receiving an answer. His eyes, they appeared to grow as hard as stone for a moment.

"I agree, they're rather outlandish and dark by nature, but there is something of the human soul I see in them…I selected them myself, since my poor friend, who is usually so ready to share his views, has admitted himself that he does not know anything at all about art. He would not know _Van Gogh_ from _Monet, _if I did not reveal the difference between them!"

I could not help but laugh as his own musical chortle filled the small corridor. "Then you are the _Herr _Schwartz's dearest friend?"

"I'm afraid I am. Hans Landa. It is a pleasure to meet you my dear…?"

"Hanne," I replied. "Hanne Kessler."

"Yes, it certainly is a pleasure to meet _you, fraüline!"_ He exclaimed, his eyes catching fire. I thought they would melt under such heated exuberance, but it seemed they only grew harder, guarded and rigid like a looking glass. He very gently took my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his lips catching on my skin for a moment as he let it go. My breath caught; I could only hope he did not notice my reaction to such an unexpected gesture. "I have heard of you often since my friend met your parents some years ago. He has been quite keen on having us introduced, but with my enlisting into the SS, his hope has been long delayed."

At last, I regained my composure. "Is that so? I had no idea that you and your friend were such fanatic nationalists?"

"Oh," he replied, looking rather pleased at my inquiry, as if he detected more beneath the simple words."But we are. Men of country are such fascinating creatures, don't you agree? There is nothing more important in the world but their superiority. As is such with Heinz...he bears his national pride with a rather effortless dexterity and I daresay, he will be a fine source for the next pure-blood German generation, in the future of course. I understand your father, too, is a man of country?"

"He is. In fact, he holds the rank of _Standartenführer_ within the SS regime."

He gasped, his dark eyes widening to the slightest degree in the most animated expression of surprise and awe. "Why, that is very fascinating indeed! And in being the daughter of such a man of rank, you must receive many suitors. But, wait..." He held up his hand most apologetically. "I cannot discredit you; it would be an inexcusable cruelty, would it not? I am sure you would lure them in with such a lovely face and that resplendently beautiful smile even if you were lacking your father's excellent fortune to recommend you."

"Thank you, herr," I responded airily, trying to receive such an array of compliments as gracefully as I could. "You flatter me, of course, but I have to say...you're quite wrong."

"Surely you are not such a shy creature...you know, it is only the ugly ones who are shy, poor things." He sighed heavily, looking as if he genuinely lamented their unfortunate lot in life. "They do not wish to earn the abhorrence of their race by putting their unpopular faces on display and stray away from speaking and laughing and enjoying themselves entirely. They leave the occupation of the charming flirt to the beautiful ones, as it tends to be...though, I have come across a very few number of beautiful introverts, as they trail almost into nonexistence. Nonetheless, a theory is merely a theory...perhaps you are precisely the contradiction I've been looking for my dear!"

A chuckle snaked through the undercurrent of his breath as he turned to the flowers, petting their soft white petals as he would an animal...perhaps human skin. The way his fingers drifted across the skin was so sensual in the way it provoked such feeling that I could barely stand it. It was as if he were teasing me and did it so expertly and covertly that I could not accuse him of such a thing, just for the sake of watching me squirm.

I cleared my throat and tore my eyes away from the erotic spectacle."Herr, what does the SS do exactly?"

He seemed rather indifferent of the topic, but even with a touch of apathy, his allure remained. At last, he ceased his stroking of the tuberose petal. "You mean you do not know? With a Standartenführer living under your roof? Your father must not be such a pleasant man....Oh, well, it is a simple business, dear Hanne. We carry out the orders of the _Fuhrer_, of course, you silly girl. I have never been a man of politics, really. They are much too intricate for my delicate interests I think. No, I am more useful with a good mystery and a nice horde of _Juden _to find."

Watching him speak so matter-of-factly about the Third Reich and the possibility for the rebirth of Germany made my head spin. It was an overwhelming sensation born of uncertainty and discomfiture as I had not yet chosen a side in this strange war which Germany waged against the world, who did not yet know to fight back, but knew there was a shadow of a threat growing on the streets and in the homes of the _Vaterland. _Hatred reigned supreme against all non-Aryan races; the Jews were considered the most guilty of them all, the scapegoats for our suffering. I didn't know quite what to think.

Such men and women and children I'd only seen on the streets, carrying on the burdens of their everyday lives as the rest of us, but seemed a race of quiet suffering. They bore the weight of persecution which sprang forth from a cruel and ignorant world, perching on their weary shoulders like a great black crow of ill omen. They knew they would suffer greatly for the misplaced hatred of the Germans, I could see it in their downcast eyes as they tried to make it through the streets of the world unseen; but they could only hope that the suffering would not be more than they could bear. This hope was apparent in every face which bore the name _Jew. _

And for that I couldn't hate them. For their forbearance and their enduring faith that good would come to them if they would only push harder against the tide of abhorrence they had come to face. But to oppose the _Fuhrer _was to oppose the ideals and the persistence of the _Vaterland. _That I could not do. A new Germany was ripe for founding as our people struggled to live, to eat and to celebrate the life they had been given without the pangs of shame and the misery of destitution. Germany, above all, deserved to be rewarded for enduring such suffering as we had suffered. It was time for rebirth. I was torn – the love for my country and the innocence of the Jews pulled me two different ways and yet my resolve stood like a rock rooted deep in the earth. There was no room for decision in such a violent fray. I revived myself from the thinking stupor.

"So the _SS…_what separates it from the Wehrmact?"

An unfurling smirk tore at the edges of his face. "It is Hitler's private armed forces, a separate division from the Wehrmacht entirely. You see, like I previously stated, political participation is necessary and those who are not desirable are promptly turned aside for lack of pure German ancestry. We simply assist our country and our leader against the enemies of the _Vaterland,_" He paused. "But, please, my dear young lady…do not think of me as a man that does not have his own ideas to bore you with. I am nothing if not opinionated and not only on the concepts which form the Third Reich."

"Of course not. I couldn't dream of it, not with such an astute eye for Expressionist art," I said, looking behind him with such longing as I saw the unharmed vase on the end table. I could not help myself any longer. "Not to mention such beautiful flowers!"

"Oh, those poor old things? You see, I used to order them every week to impress my _femme du jour," _he said, pivoting on his spit-shined boots to watch me caress the multi-colored petals. "My guests, that is."

I did not know what he had said, but smiled as best I could through the confusion at the switch in language (it was French, I was sure of it), which he seemed to detect anyway despite my best attempts to conceal it.

Hans watched carefully as I delicately arranged the flowers and tried to block out the strangely cruel and awkward silence. "You _will _forgive me if I am entirely wrong in assuming this...but I do believe you are very much in love flowers, _fraüline_?"

"Oh, very much," I smiled, looking at him briefly before focusing my attentions entirely on the fragile blossoms. I noticed, with a sad sort of realization, that they had already begun to wilt from poor treatment or complete neglect. "These are fine specimens, I'll say, you have good taste."

"Always, my dear." He gave a low chuckle. "_Always_. Now, again, you _must _excuse my assumptions...I take you as a woman who enjoys them so much that she studies them with the most voracious attentiveness to detail and certain topics?"

"I do," I replied, unable to contain my astonishment. "However did you know?"

"Oh, it is in your perfume. It is not a perfume at all, really...much too delightfully fresh to be bottled and sold in shop windows!" He leaned into me so closely that I could feel his lips graze the sensitive spot between my ear and jaw line, gently breathing the scent as I tried to remain as steadfast as possible in such provocative proximity. At once, as if he had lost interest instantaneously in teasing me, he returned to his former activity - picking through the arrangement in a mostly detached manner. "A flowery fragrance, without that chemical lilt that most men despise so much. You are a woman of study as well, that much is evident by your natural curiosity."

I studied him inconspicuously from my vantage point behind him. "And from these small, inconspicuous hints you deduce that I am a botanist?"

"Of sorts, yes," he replied nonchalantly, his ego swelling with each bemused bat of an eye on my behalf. "However, I know little of flowers at all...I admit, it's quite scandalous of me. That I should share my room with them and the entirety of my house and my guests and still do not know anything at all about them. Won't you _enlighten _me, dear Hanne?"

He gave a genial, wolfish sort of smile as I gave a small nod of agreement. "Why of course, _Herr Landa, y_ou see this one here? It is called Hyacinth, from the_ Hyacinthaceae _family, but they first belonged to the _Liliaceae _family, you see. These particular flowers here are _Hyacinthus transcaspicus. _Of course, they are not native to Germany, as most beautiful plants are typically not, but to the east, like Iran."

Herr Landa laughed, a gently rolling sound. "Why, you do know your botany, don't you?! Lovely and intelligent...I do wonder how you achieve such a feat."

"Oh, _herr_. I would not dare assume such a thing of myself...only that I adore plants. They are more complicated than you should think. They grow and reproduce and make their own food by way of soaking in the carbon dioxide we emit through respiration and the nutrients which the sun gives off simply by rising in the east and falling in the west. But not only that, they, in turn, provide for us the air _we _breathe, a sort of symbiotic relationship which requires the participation of both parties if it is to be at all successful – I am eternally grateful to them, for prolonging our air supply thus far."

Herr Landa, again, indulged in my silly interest with a hearty chortle."Well, then indulge me for a moment, my dear. I have heard that many flowers have significant meanings. Is this true? Or have I fallen prey to the utterances of lovesick fools again?"

"Not at all, herr," I replied. "Would you like to know the meaning of this arrangement here?"

He waved his hand in a grand gesture, signaling for me to continue. A broad, jack-o-lantern's grin spread in wide patches of mirth on my cheeks, lighting them with a slight blush that I hoped he would not see. "Well, the Hyacinth here means sincerity. You were smart for choosing that one if you were trying to impress your guests_."_

_"_These? These pretty white flowers here...." He pointed to a white specimen with a long stem. "And this one?" He motioned toward one with almost translucent pink petals.

"The white ones are tuberoses, which mean passion. And the pink, they are sweet peas, which indicate shyness. Were your guests shy?"

"In their own small ways, yes, but only at first. However timid they were on arrival, I did manage to shed them of their demure _clothing _before the night was over," he replied, almost teasingly.

We shared a bout of laughter, in the middle of which I began to realize how pleased I was. It had been a long time since a man took notice of anything I said about botany, growing bored and practically yawning by the time I'd finished speaking. However, Herr Landa gave not a hint of boredom in the midst of my long-winded speech. He remained steadfast in the face of my scientific rambling and did not stray for a moment.

I began to entertain the thought as I looked up at him that it was a possibility, if he remained the enthralling, mannerly gentleman I'd first encountered…

That I could sincerely fall in love with him, despite the long gap of age between us.

* * *

The night of _Herr _Schwartz's birthday party had been the first time I met Hans Landa, but not the first time my father had come to make an acquaintance with him.

Just before they had the chance to realize I was away, he had excused himself as he had a prior engagement, for which he was very late and could not stay another minute to meet my mother. He promised that the next occasion which we met he would allow me to introduce them and then offered another handshake in farewell – I took it and grimaced as I felt my fingers crack and release their frail cries of pain into my bloodstream, which boiled with a hot blush as it crept up my cheeks.

_And please...**do **call me Hans._

I hadn't been so instantly attracted to and instantaneously enamored with a man since I was sixteen. And that was truly a long time passed.

Of course, my mother had been extremely unhappy that she had not been given the chance to formally meet her new prospect for me, though she had seen him a great deal in the long years beforehand. In fact, the woman had been watching him grow up since he was but a boy in grade school. But she had never thought of him as a husband for me until she had seen him at _Frau _Schweiger's garden party, where he had been so very charming with all of the women, not just the ladies of his age that had attended. It had been the first party which my father and I had _not _attended with my mother – we had been called to a meeting with the banker on account of my flower shop instead.

This had been only a week ago, in which Hans Landa had somehow snaked his way into my mother's line of discovery.

It was all a very strange affair. That my mother had not noticed or met Hans earlier, with my father knowing of him as he did, and that _Herr _Schwartz had not offered him to my mother as a candidate for matchmaking before, seeing as the two were so involved in the practice. It was as if Hans had not even existed before the day Hannelore Kessler realized he was not merely 'that good friend of Heinz Schwartz and an acquaintance of my husband' at all, but perhaps one of the most amiable men in Germany. In fact, _Frau _Schweiger's party was the only reason that poor Hans Landa had instantly become the perfect contender for her matchmaking business.

On the way home that night, when we had all taken leave of the Schwartz and his fiance and drove through the dark, sleepy streets of Berlin, I made the grave mistake of mentioning my chance encounter with Hans Landa in the main hallway. I found it rather strange, in retrospect, that we had gone unnoticed for the whole of our twenty minutes of conversation.

"You _what_? Met him, did you? And you did not think to introduce me to him? What on _God's _green earth were you thinking, you stupid girl? That I would magically gravitate toward you and initiate the acquaintance on my own? You are a stupid girl, really, if you thought such a thing as it is plain to see it didn't happen! Wilhelm, tell her she is a stupid girl for thinking such a thing!"

Father's eyes rolled dramatically, his usual cantankerous temper aggravated by the lateness of the hour. "Damn you, don't you ever shut up? It is only a man! No one of consequence to anyone else but you, you stupid pigeon!"

"You see, Hanne, your father agrees with me. And why shouldn't he? He's met the man already, known him for months as far as I know! But it makes me very mad that he has not introduced me to him before, seeing as the man is practically made for you! Nonetheless, I am not angry at him…he is a simple man and that is not his fault, but I can't blame him as Heinz and I are the only ones who know what we're doing when it comes to making the perfect match. But for _God's _sake, girl, have some sense in these delicate situations! You should have brought him to me straight away and I would have introduced you _properly_. And let me guess! You talked of nothing but flowers, didn't you?"

She knew me all too well. "Of course not, mother," I replied nonchalantly. "He talked of his enlistment. He has joined the SS regiment_."_ My mother ignored my reply completely.

"I knew it. You always do! Those flowers are going to be the death of me and your future. If they were all blown up and never grew again I would be a very happy woman as they are nothing but trouble in my opinion! They distract you from what's important, dearest, and that is not a good thing at all! Oh, dear…I can't believe I have to wait until _Frau _Ackerman's garden party to meet him. And even then it is a shot in the dark! The man is naturally shy and does not always like to socialize with his own kind! Not that I blame him, but still! He'll probably die in a shoot-out before I ever meet him, or ever have the chance to call him son, won't he?!"

Beneath his half-hearted grumblings, I discerned the words _'halt die fresse' _amongst the unintelligible mess of phrases. For the duration of the ride home, all I had heard was the infernal ranting of my fanatic mother and the stream of profanity which issued like a gust of mid-winter breeze from his lips – cold and empty of all meaning.

However, my mother's sour mood, however provoked by my apparent senselessness, improved by the next day, when she had turned to talking about Hans endlessly once again. We say in the great room, her cup of cold coffee on her lap as she raved for an hour without stopping about Hans' _'eyes like cold, opaque gray sea glass, I would die for a grandson with such eyes!' _I reposed on the rose pink and white settee across from her, my thoughts buried deep in _Flora of the British West Indian Islands_ by August Grisebach, which took me completely away from the tedium of listening to her brag about a son-in-law she might never have.

It was a cruel thought to harbor against my mother's most ardent wishes, but candid nonetheless. It was plain as day to anyone that such a catch, as Hans surely was, would be caught by the likes of _me_.

My father, in the meantime, as he awaited _Frau _Ackerman's garden party, took to his own hobby with keen interest. While my mother's interests were shallow, lying only in makeup and beauty and matchmaking (marriage was more like an addendum to this last hobby, the effect of the cause), and my own were in horticulture and botany, my father's pastimes were more reasonable and common and not so entirely focused on one subject. He loved to study anything German - people and places and animals in the most casual sort of way, very much like my systematic pursuits and readings. He enjoyed a good game of poker with his fellow Nazi friends and a well-performed German play, but could not stand a lack of intelligence or pure Aryan ancestry, which made me wonder about my parents' marriage as my mother was clearly lacking the high standards of smarts he required (perhaps even Aryan purity). Though, it could be duly noted by anyone that knew her well that my mother was not devoid completely of cleverness; they would simply know that, when she put her mind to it, _Frau _Kessler could prove herself a smart woman.

I could only think, under the circumstances, that life had a funny way of turning out in the end, which would become more apparent after my impending marriage.

The day _Frau _Ackerman's garden party arrived was met with much excitement on my mother's side. She chattered and guffawed and sighed all morning about the impending event until the look in my father's eyes promised murder if she did not quiet soon. In order to save her from a fate worse than a ruined reputation, I led my mother into my room to help me dress as she was already prepared to leave. And though I was forced to endure her exaltation of Hans over and over again, it was the lesser of the two evils – tolerating mother's pettiness or watching my father throttle her to death in the cruelest way possible.

"Oh, you must wear your lilac dress! It goes very well with your eyes. Such pretty eyes you have, Hanne, I will give you that compliment very readily. You are lucky that you inherited your father's eyes! Oh and these white shoes, too! You must wear them or the whole look of your dress will be ruined. Be careful with your makeup, as you do not want to make it gaudy or else you will look like a whore and we do not want that…Hans will certainly not want a prostitute for a wife, _ja?"_

In the end, I submitted to her wishes. She was merely an old woman who wanted to see her daughter in a happy situation and was stuck in the ways of the old world, back when women were dependent on their husbands for their livelihoods. If all went well with Hans, I could be a wife and a flower shopkeeper at the same time – my mother could have her cake and I could eat it too.

"The two of you drive me completely _mad! _All your primping and powdering and lipstick-applying! Can't you just slap a dress on and be done with it? I'm growing a _schnurrbart _here waiting on you!"

It was not a happy day until my mother retorted pompously that the wiles of women and the way their charms worked with a little rouge and a smudge of lipstick. And when she was done with her dissertation on feminine charms, she walked out of the room, leaving my father to curse heavily in German and squeeze the bridge of his nose as he felt a migraine begin to spread through his temples. He snapped at me to follow her and then packed us into the car, the entire dysfunctional family consisting of wife, husband and the daughter that one hoped to marry off and the other to ascertain a steady business in the near future (perhaps even a perfectly Aryan son-in-law, if the fates allowed it).

For the first time since the night before, my mother was quiet when we arrived at _Frau _Ackerman's rather large country estate in the nearby town of Potsdam. Though there were manors twice its size and importance nearby, the Ackerman's estate was lavish enough to make our own large apartment in Berlin look positively sad in comparison.

"Ah, _Frau _Kessler!" She cried, outstretching her long, thin arms to embrace her old friend. "Why, you old prune. You look as wonderful as any ancient fruit could manage!"

_Frau _Ackerman, even in all her stately beauty and social standing, was prone to making strange commentary. Mostly her analogies had to do with food and alcohol in general as she loved both so dearly and was the frequent source of laughter amongst Berlin's choice affluence. That didn't stop them, however, from meeting her at her doorway with a feigned smile and a positive attitude all the same.

My mother tapped the woman on the nose and chuckled. "The best prune you know, _ja?"_

"There is no better prune I know and I can tell you that for sure," _Frau _Ackerman replied. "Now, don't you go and exercise that usual _port wine_ allure on my guests here. They are very proud people." My mother frowned, not at all pleased with the manners of the mentioned guests.

"Not all as cool and collected as cucumbers, dear?"

If my father had not been used to our friend's eccentric comparisons, he would have taken to the pillars on the porch and made dents in the extravagant columns with his head, which would only encourage the woman to make another food-related remark on his juvenile behavior.

"Not at all my dear! They are about as kind with their tongues as horseradish on bread. Especially _Herr _Zedler." _Frau _Ackerman shook her head gravely as our small family made our way through the foyer of the manor. _Herr _Ackerman, who was a friend of my father's, seemed to be doing awfully well as an officer in the _SS_ regime if he could afford to keep such an extravagant place.

As the hostess had warned, the guests which had arrived there were not as inviting as the company usually was. They were mostly other well-to-do families in Potsdam who merely roamed the garden parties and evening gatherings to gain stature in society. No more and no less.

"Do you see _Herr _Schwartz, Wilhelm? Or, even better, Hans himself? You are taller, dear…please do look. Think of your daughter and look for the pair if you would please."

My father heaved the sigh of a man undone, but complied and scanned the crowd for the mentioned pair. "You are in luck, Hannelore. They are by the…oh, what are those damn things called there..."

"Society garlic?" I offered breathlessly, looking eagerly to the western side of the garden.

Father was looking east. "No, the trees with the purple hanging flowers."

"Oh, you mean wisteria," I replied. "They are-"

"Don't say another word, Hanne! I don't want to hear about stupid flowers anymore! From now on, I will not tolerate even a vague mention of flowers, do you hear me? _Especially _in Hans' presence; men do not want to hear of stupid flowers! Nor would they want a wife with their head stuck in the ground."

I could only hope that she would soon forget her newly established rule, as she did all the other times that she made the mentioning of any sort of botany or horticulture a taboo subject.

We made our way toward the group of people that surrounded Hans and Herr Schwartz, my mother the quickest to reach them. _Herr _Schwartz greeted her with a brilliant, charming smile and a tip of his hat.

"_Herr _Schwartz!" My mother cried. "It is so good to see you. And so soon, too!"

"Of course, _Frau _Kessler," he replied, with a complimentary shake of the hand for my _vater_. "A nice surprise, as usual."

My mother was far too excited to see the older man standing before her to gratify such a vague declaration with a response. She gave a stark, strained smile. "_Herr _Schwartz. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend here?"

"Oh, this one?" He briefly glanced at Hans, who was quietly looking at me as he stood in the midst of the group of matched men and their adoring wives, presenting himself almost apathetically in contrast to my mother's nearly uncontrollable delight. "This is my dearest friend, Hans Landa. There's not a better man I know than _Herr _Landa here!" He gave Hans a great pat on the back and Hans smiled enthusiastically at him in return. "I'm sure you've met him before?"

"No, _herr_, never." Replied my mother.

_Herr _Schwartz scratched the back of his neck. "I could have sworn…"

"Never mind that, Heinz," my father assured him. "My wife has a bad habit of being forgetful when it suits her the best and inconveniences the world around her. However, I may assure you that this time it was not her forgetfulness to blame. She has never been acquainted with _Herr _Landa here before, though I have."

"Oh, _halt die schnauze, _Wilhelm, you old _schwein_!" My mother chuckled heartily, masking her irritation with my father. "You never have anything good to say about anyone, now do you dear?"

"Now it's my opinion that women that can speak for themselves are very great and rare women indeed, don't you agree, Hans?" _Herr _Schwartz commented passively.

Another man cut in, though it had not looked like Hans had intended to answer at all in the first place. "I don't think so at all, Heinz. I think a woman should be put in her place if she dares speak up in such an impudent way."

A tall, balding fellow stated this decidedly as he downed the last of his drink, looking formidable in his cold, gray SS rank uniform, quite different from Hans' simpler dress attire. The timid, shrunken looking wife beside him, who might have been very pretty at one point in her life before marrying the cruel officer at her side, seemed to tremble at the sound of his voice. Her shadowed eye-sockets sunk even deeper into what seemed a perpetual shade.

"Women are certainly entitled to their own opinion...though I imagine sometimes it may be in society's good interests to remain patriarchal and disregard them entirely. However, I _must _say, only on occasion. The world would be deprived if it lost such a beautiful sound as the voice of a woman. Don't you _agree_, Herr Schuster? " Hans, though his voice was innocent of all dangerously rebellious nuance, assessed _Herr _Zedler with an air of calculation and sharp scrutiny.

_Herr _Zedler remained almost completely unfazed by the comment, appearing, at first, to be much too involved in finding himself another good, hard drink...but a deeper look found him unnerved. Very unnerved.

"Yes, _Herr _Landa, I do agree with you there," stated the aforementioned _Herr _Schuster. "Women are creatures too, equipped with equally able minds as any great philosopher there ever was before. Susan B. Anthony and Mary Wollenstonecraft, for example, were great and influential people, despite their gender and the oppression of the patriarchal society in which they lived. They need to express their opinions, no matter how disagreeable they might be."

"Yes, but were they German? It is my opinion that a woman who is not German is lower than the dirt beneath the mud beneath my shoe. Those _Juden, too!_"

Many of the men laughed at my father's comment, including Hans. The women, however, looked rather uncomfortable in contrast...including my mother. She stayed her aggressive retorts, which became increasingly difficult for a moment as Hans excused himself to find himself another drink. Before he left, however, he inquired, kindly, if I would like one as well...

I agreed and he patted my hand, almost adoringly. My mother's face, though strained, seemed to gradually unravel from its coiled rage.

I remained quiet throughout the duration of the small discussion, listening attentively to each response and waiting on Hans to return. _Herr _Schwartz and _Herr_ Schuster seemed to approve of independent women, while that cruel _arschloch_ _SS-Untersturmfuhrer_ Zedler approved only of a completely submissive woman who did not say anything at all. My father was in a state of opinionated limbo; he didn't know what to think when it came to German women (although, he was quite decided on the non-German ones, that much was certain), what with having such a dogmatic wife has he did. The group soon fractured and migrated into other conversations after much deliberation on the freedom of women until only Herr Schwartz and his fiance and the Kessler's remained behind.

It was around this time that Hans returned, two tall, crystal glasses of champagne in hand.

My mother was well pleased with the development and did not take it for granted.

"So, _Herr _Landa…"My mother glanced furtively my way. "Have you met many beautiful women since you've started going to parties again?"

"Of course, dear Frau Kessler!" He replied, smiling at her charmingly. "There is always a myriad variation of beauty to unravel in the midst of such a beautiful season in Germany, don't you _agree _Herr Standartenfuhrer?"

My father gave a stiff nod, indicating his full cooperation with the appeasing statement despite the telltale disquieted narrowing of his eyes. "I wouldn't be happier to agree with anything _less_ in regards to our beautiful _Vaterland_, Herr Landa. And might I add that I couldn't have put it better?"

Mother did not like the ambiguity of his comment all that much and drifted into silence while my father took the reins on the conversation and asked about his enlistment. She was much too busy brooding over her own disappointment over Hans' aloofness in regards to my looks to notice father's sudden personality change, though slight as the shift was.

Like the night of our first encounter, Hans seemed to exercise his ability to say so much, but to say so little all at the same time_. _In fact, he contributed little to many of the chosen topics which were discussed and this vexed my mother beyond all reasonable doubt. I watched her face fall a little more each time her beloved Hans Landa refused to put forth his most charming efforts to sway her into the premature bliss of approaching mother-in-lawhood.

My father, in all respects, could care less about my mother's disappointment.  
He only knew that he approved most adamantly of Hans.

And could not seem to look more unhappy about his ostensible approval if he tried...

* * *

After the garden party at _Frau _Ackerman's, which was a success to every other family which had attended, my mother took to slighting Hans in the most vicious sort of way she could think of. With no more events to keep her focus and her friends all quite busy with their own lives, she fell into a state of ennui that even I could not help by feigning interest as I read or knitted or stared out of the apartment window, watching the world walk by on the sunlit walks of Berlin. Her inane chatter would spill ceaselessly over the carpet, over the coffee table and into the hall so overwhelmingly that, when he was not away on important, professional business, my father would shout at her to _halt die schnauze! _ And, of course, my mother would retort with another comment on the superiority of women and their gainful wiles and their banter would end.

It was a particularly warm and pleasant day in the early summer of 1938 and my mother was prattling away about Hans again. That particular morning found me sitting by the window, a stream of light highlighting the words so vibrantly that I had to squint to read them properly. However, if I retreated back to the settee, it would start her up again and there would be not a breath drawn on her behalf between her incessant, verbose streams of nonsensical drivel.

Before long, I had to relent and crawled to the beckoning cushions.  
At first, she only heaved a mournful sigh as I settled into the pillows.  
Then, it grew into a mention of the weather while I busied myself with opening my book.

At last, when I dragged my index finger down the page to find my place, she mentioned his name..._Hans_.

"He has a hateful temper under all that sweet charisma, I assume! You saw the way he was smiling at us, all smug like he knew he was better than us. And he just stood there while I tried to make pleasant conversation like some great statue! I don't care how handsome he is…he is not marrying my daughter, no matter how handsome! That's for damn certain!"

She continued on, her face growing considerably red with indignation. "And the way he was looking at you, dear Hanne! Like some cheap prostitute on the street corners of Berlin! I could barely take it…I do not know how your father stood so quietly while he looked at you like that! It is not appropriate and I should have said something but oh, I did not! Poor Hanne… you poor girl. Slighted by an old man! Old enough to take me out for a night, you know!"

Mother sat up in her seat, another idea wrapping around her head and squeezing her so tightly that she had to speak of it before it stifled her completely. "And the way his friend just stood there, too! Why, the man is supposed to be my good friend and he allows me to be treated badly by his own badly behaved companion? Stupid boy! And I thought you were the stupid one, Hanne, but it appears you have been bested by _Heinz _himself!"

"Oh, but if only I had better taste in men for you, my dear," she lamented. I could feel her red-lined eyes on me, searching for sympathy. "If only I could have picked a better candidate for you. Then you would be on your first escapade and have it done with and be married within the next three months! But, of course, I have failed you again. I am a terrible mother_."_

"You are not," I replied, looking up at her from my book. "And I don't think Hans is quite as bad as you think."

"Oh, but he is! I know he is. I can see it in those eyes of his…like snake eyes! They are cruel and he is very cruel and much too old for my young, _beautiful _daughter."

I nearly burst with restrained laughter at the thought of my mother's censure of Hans' eyes. Only a week before, they had been the most beautiful she had ever beheld…now, they were of _der Teufel. _Demonic in appearance, or so she claimed.

"Perhaps he's not as unreserved in front of strangers, _mama._ _He strikes me as a sort of private man__._ "I replied, still managing to pour over Charles Darwin's _On the Origin of Species _with rapt attention.

"That's no excuse! I am shy of strangers and you don't see me retreating into my shell like some frightened _muschel!" _She cried.

It was at the most opportune moment, when my mother's reply reached me across the room, that father walked in with the daily periodical and a cup of tea for his livid wife.

"Many things you are, Hannelore, but shy of strangers you are most certainly not," he countered.

"Oh, what do you know, _arschloch? _Nothing! Especially of that rotten man Hans Landa! He treated us badly and you know it, but you don't care, do you? You approve, of course, because he is purely German! That is all that matters to you, not at all that my poor Hanne is deprived of a match _yet _again!" She raged, taking the tea cup that my father offered to her gently and taking one large swallow of it.

For a few minutes more, we tolerated her irritation. But I suspected we would be relieved of her suffering, and our own, as there seemed to be more than just tea in that porcelain cup. She began to take smaller sips of it and grow calmer with each passing minute.

Before very long, my suspicions were confirmed; mother lay sprawled across the couch, snoring contently in her drug-induced oblivion, the empty tea cup in her lap. Father sighed peacefully and looked at me.

"Well, darling...enjoy the silence as much as you can. I'll be off...got a meeting with my superiors in an hour."

I returned to Darwin as the quietude filled the room, before I could forget fully what information I had already processed in my head and have to start all over again.

My father, on the other hand, exchanged fond farewells with me and left the silent aparment...proud of his handiwork and a job well done.

* * *

It was another three weeks before Hans unknowingly prevailed upon my mother's good opinion again.

A chance encounter allowed him to gracefully reintroduce himself as a candidate for what was supposedly my inescapable marriage when my mother had insisted we go out for _streusel. _It was really not for _streusel _at all, but a small chance of seeing Hans again which prompted my mother out of our front door in her nicest casual attire with me trailing behind.

I only agreed to go along with her ridiculous, last-minute stitched design on the terms that I was allowed to bring a book and did not have to wear the sinfully ugly dress she had bought for the occasion.

She permitted my terms and I was allowed to take my newly acquired _Manual of the Botany of the Northern United States, from New England to Wisconsin and South to Ohio and Pennsylvania Inclusive, _or _Gray's Manual, _penned by Asa Gray, which had been hard to find as American botany was frowned upon in most bookstores. But one older bookshop keeper had ordered it for me, an old, torn copy that had seen better days before it fell into my fortunate hands, though it was not so terribly damaged so that it was illegible.

My mother, upon seeing the title of the book, shook her head and cursed whatever maker had been so cruel as to send _me_ for a daughter to her. I, however, was all too happy in realizing she had lifted her rule…or forgotten it completely.

As soon as we reached the café down the street from Hans' residence, my mother promptly ripped the fragile copy of _Gray's Manual _out of my hands (nearly wrecking the spine and the water-damaged pages) and put it under her feet.

I cried out and tried to stop her, but as she gestured to the door with her wild her expression, I realized her wish had come true – Hans had come in, looking rather dashing even in his gray uniform.

"How did you know he would be here?" I whispered hoarsely across the table. "You are stalking the poor man, aren't you? _Aren't you?!_"

"Of course not! That would be very stupid of me, wouldn't it?" She replied, furrowing her brow. "I merely took a guess and it was right."

Of all the pitiful things my mother was, I could at least give her credit and admit that she was most certainly observant.

"Oh, _Herr _Landa!" She crooned vociferously as he passed quickly by. The poor man heard his name and looked toward the table out of some misplaced curiosity. He knew well the banshee-like quality of _Frau _Kessler's voice and could attach it to a familiar face, since he _seemed_ intelligent enough. Upon realizing that we were not merely adoring strangers, but women of his acquaintance, he brushed on his best, most alluring smile.

However, he did not let on even an insinuation of annoyance as he approached the table."Why, if it isn't the two most beautiful Kessler women in Germany!"

"I thought that was you dear _herr_! What a wonderful coincidence this is, is it not?"

"It is, very much so, dear _Frau _Kessler! A wonderful accident," He replied genially, a certain smugness unfolding from its concealment. "The both of you look quite lovely today." He added.

My mother was instantaneously won over by a kind compliment and a promising glance of interest in my general direction. It could have been an expensive car passing by on the roads or perhaps a pedestrian on the walks behind me that caught him unaware, but even the vaguest hint of an attraction on his part was the equivalent of a proposal of marriage in my mother's distorted view of the world.

"Aren't you kind?" She chuckled good-naturedly and nudged her body closer to the large window on her right side. "Would you like to join us, _Herr _Landa? We have just stopped for _strudel _before we resumed our excursion for the day."

His expression communicated that he was genuinely tempted by the offer, but it was without a touch of regret that he replied, "I will have to politely decline your offer, _Frau _Kessler. I am quite the busy man this morning. You see, I was just on my way to see a few good old friends of mine when you stopped me, not that your interruption was unwelcome."

She inclined her head and smiled a little mournfully as looked at me briefly before fixing her eyes attentively on him. "Ah, well, that is a very sad thing. We will miss your company, then, and politely demand that you visit us tomorrow, if you are not a busy man then?"

"Perhaps I may, if I have the time," he replied. "And if it so happens that I do have the time, I shall be there at one in the afternoon. How does that suit?"

"It suits _just fine_." My mother replied and watched him resume his trek across the small café, where he sat down with a few men dressed in the same Nazi attire I'd been seeing mostly and greeted each with one of his bone-crushing handshakes. I felt ghost pains tear through my right hands as I watched the men receive their greetings, but they seemed not at all affected by a particularly strong grip. In fact, the lot of them commented on each other's strength as if it were a great attribute to have, an observation which I could tell was obvious by the pleasantly-surprised expressions on their stern, weathered faces.

Except for Hans, of course, who remained startlingly silent throughout the contest of masculinity.

"You see," my mother said as she looked at him for a moment more. "I told you he was a good man. It will all work out, you will see. I will have you married by Christmastime, if I am careful! Perhaps a grandson by late summer on the next year!"

I scoffed at such a false declaration and retrieved _Gray's Manual _from underneath my mother's simple gray shoes as she ordered our apple _streusel. _

* * *

It just so happened that, by chance, Hans' afternoon was free that very next day and he came to visit us at the prearranged time he had offered us at the café the morning before. My mother was, for once, quiet as she read a wedding periodical, humming the wedding march while she flipped through page after page of wedding dresses. I sat on the small ottoman which was stationed beside the window, a collection of Dickenson open in my lap as I took a moment to evaluate the state of the walks below. It was mostly empty, the city streets, but I recognized one face amongst the rest, simply dressed, but unmistakable in both appearance and that ominous sort of stature he bore.

"_Mama, Herr _Landa is here," I announced calmly.

She instantaneously shoved the periodical under the couch and raced to the kitchen to make tea, not saying a word except to alert my father, who had been lounging peacefully, for a few hour's worth of stolen solace, in his study room in the most ferociously loud and exasperating voice in the history of mankind altogether.

My father sighed and emerged from the alluring dimness of his study, proceeding to answer the door once the bell was rung. I heard his wearied voice in the main hall and Hans' honeyed-silk, purring vernacular which sashayed through the length of the house and lured its atmosphere into a dream-like stupor. I abandoned my copy of Dickinson's poetry on the cushion behind me and stood to tame the wrinkles that had settled into the natural folds of my skirt.

I finished refreshing my static clothes just as Hans, looking handsome and oddly omnipresent even in his relaxed sort of attire, and my father, unwittingly dwarfed by his overwhelming presence, entered. My mother followed close behind, looking as if she would simply rupture from sheer exhilaration, although the gentler rays of hope shone through the intensity of her happiness on account of Hans' sudden and rather unexpected appearance.

"This is quite a nice surprise, _Herr _Landa!" My mother exclaimed as she poured him tea. He intervened with a gentle hand and a swaying smile when she prepared to add sugar to the brew and she returned the small, mirthful gesture, moving on to her husband's next; she was not so careful in pouring his tea, that was for certain.

"I made a promise, didn't I? I tend to be a man of my word..." He replied graciously, leaving his tea cup to emanate small whorls of a serene, fragrant haze as it curled into the deathly grip of the open air and withered away in its blithe fingers. I wandered toward the couch, taking my own tea cup (two cubes of sugar and approximately five drops of cream) into my hands to chase the leftover chill of the morning from the marrow of my bones.

"You did?" My father's brow knitted together inquisitively.

"_Ja_, I was fortunate enough as to cross the paths of both your dear women here yesterday! It was a most unexpected occurrence, but _Frau _Kessler here issued an invitation for me to arrive here at one exactly. But if I am not welcome by you, _herr, _then I may leave straight away." Hans replied enigmatically and took a small, elegant sip of his tea. My mother nearly swooned at the thought of such a man connected to her family.

"Oh, you are quite welcome, _Herr _Landa! Isn't that right, _Wilhelm?_" My mother tossed a very precarious look in my father's direction. Father, on the other hand, appeared to be both displeased with and relieved by Hans' presence, the two conflicting emotions battling for dominance in his furrowed brow; it took mostly everything in my power to keep my own insatiable curiosity to myself. But I did not deprive myself of the comfort of casting a worrying glance his way, for which I received a reassuring one in return for my efforts to discover his secret plight.

Whatever sort of inner turmoil he suffered, he insisted wordlessly, would be repressed for the present and discussed _later_.

I set my cup down, thoroughly warmed, and looked to Hans. "I understand you are soon to be promoted, Hans?"

"At last, a justified rumor! It has crossed town, has it? This little mentioning of my promotion?" He chuckled good-naturedly, a crooked smirk forming at the corners of his mouth. "Why, I don't know whether to be pleased or intimidated by such skilled conversationalists! Perhaps they should apply for the Gestapo, what with such quick unearthing of evidence!"

"Oh, you are smart, aren't you?" My mother praised him over her porcelain cup. "It is a wonder, really, that you are not already married!"

I felt my face burn and my father shift with growing unrest at my mother's expectant mention. Hans looked at her curiously, but his expression did not falter into disapproval, despite her antics.

My father decided it was time for a change of conversation and sat up quickly in his seat with a new resolve. "So, Hans," he began, much to my mother's dismay (which he happily ignored), his hands fastened before him. "Whatever in the world did you do to earn such a speedy promotion?"

Hans' smirk deepened, as if he contained some dark secret which he did not mind displaying for all the world to see. "I am quite the skilled detective, _Standartenführer _Kessler."

"Is that so? What do you detect?"

"Why, the _Juden _of course!" He replied, a streak of laughter coursing through his countenance. He stirred his tea, the motions of his spoon slow and calm despite his agitated state. "It is common knowledge, _Standartenführer _Kessler, that if a man desires to find his place in a new world and a new age, he must not only know his talents and his strengths....but also how to put them to good use."

My father looked authentically astounded. "I'm quite impressed."

After a small sound of something like mirth completely left him, Hans set down his tea cup and reached into the breast-pocket of his dark tweed coat, drawing out a gold-plated pocket-watch from the compartment and checking it with a furrowed brow. He sighed and replaced it, looking up at the three of us with distinctive remorse dancing across the cold, hard shells of his eyes.

He stood suddenly and my mother nearly upset her tea cup altogether. "Well, I must apologize, _Standartenführer _Kessler, _Frau _Kessler…" He nodded graciously to the both of them and his gaze traipsed briefly over me. "But, it is time for me to leave. I have the most urgent business to attend to!"

"But…"She protested, glancing at his half-empty tea cup. "You have not finished your tea just yet! Surely you cannot go if you have not finished your tea?"

"I'm afraid I must. There is something of very great importance that I must _pick up_," he replied. My mother wilted like an orchid caught in an early winter storm. He looked at me less discreetly, his focus unwavering as he cast a pleasant glance my way. "Would you be so kind as to escort me to the door, dear Hanne?"

I stood, abandoning the warming console of the sofa. "Certainly," I replied, and followed him into the main hall.

He replaced his cap on his head as he reached for the door handle and at first I was quite at a loss as to why he had asked me to see him off. It seemed to me he had nothing to say and was not even planning to depart with a fond farewell.

Contrary to my certainty that he was to leave without another word, he turned and kissed me gently on the mouth, his hand lingering on my cheek even after he withdrew. The influence of his cold eyes spread into the very pit of my stomach, ensnaring me in some wintry spell.

"You'll receive a parcel in a few moments, after I leave," he informed me, his gloved hand sliding down the planes of my unpainted cheek. "Oh, and please, do not forget - do _not _be late."

He then departed, leaving me in a state of shock. It seemed he was privy to my mother's susceptibility to overwhelming enthusiasm and had waited until he knew for certain that she had not followed. A smart man…a very smart man.

My mother finally shuffled in, dejected. A good sign that she had not witnessed our second encounter, the most important of the mere two we'd had. "So, what did he say? Told you he had another girl in mind, did he?" She asked mournfully.

"No_," _I replied patiently, a little breathlessly as I was still trying to recover from such an unexpected, but nonetheless _welcomed_ kiss. "There's no need for me to explain; you'll see soon enough, I promise."

Just as I had reassured her, the bell rang once more. I outstretched my hand for the handle, but my mother had gotten to it before me, always the quickest fingers when it came to my prospects. She threw open the door and saw a man standing there, a long box tucked inconspicuously under his arm.

"_Frauline _Kessler, are you?"He looked at me, the more youthful looking of the two women standing before him. I nodded and he handed over the parcel while mother paid for the delivery and a tip for a speedy conveyance. Meanwhile, I was opening the box, peeling back the cardboard flaps to reveal a red tulip, a declaration of love. My heart stuttered and revived so rapidly that I barely noticed, in my exerted efforts to regain a consistent state of equilibrium, the folded piece of paper with my name scrawled in refined calligraphy across the front.

"Oh, it's from Hans, isn't it dear?" My mother cried. "Oh, read it! Read it quickly! I want to know what it says!"

"_Stille, _please, mama_!"_ I snapped at her and she went instantly rigid. I unfolded the letter, revealing the elegantly penned contents as they were revealed.

_Hanne,_

_Meet me in the cafe. I am sure that I am not required to specify...it is the very same in which you sit each day, your chamomile tea, your book of pressed flowers (or perhaps, depending upon your mood, a book of science instead?) and a delicate shadow of rumination on your brow._

_If you are not there by eight sharp tonight, I will consider your nonappearance an act of refusal._

_All my love,  
_

_Hans Landa  
_

I grinned surreptitiously, my heart beating against the walls of my chest so hard that I could feel the vibrations in the tips of my toes. Even as I still strained to catch my breath, I caught my mother's attention from across the surface of the paper.

"It looks as if your dream may be coming true sooner than you think, _mama."_

She tore the letter from my hands, her victorious laughter filling the quiet entrance hall as my father came in to assess the ruckus.

All the while, I could only think of accepting him, eyeing the flower that he had sent me.

I took the tulip from its box…my decision had been made.


	2. II: A Celebratory Shot of Blood and Gin

**Author's Note: **Okay, well, here's chapter two! Enjoy...In the meantime, I'll be working on chapter three. If you find any errors, please disregard them...I will go over them later.

**Disclaimer **- I don't own Hans Landa.

* * *

Late Winter of 1939...

It was quite a glorious day in Hans Landa's opinion.

Of course, it was _always _a beautiful day when opportunity came knocking on his door. Today, it was in the form of a nervous little man with a manila folder in his grasp, a manila folder which contained everything Hans Landa needed to turn his rather tedious situation around and give him the leverage he needed to make it into the SS regiment.

Ah yes…the sun had never shone so bright. The colors of the streets of Berlin had never been so stark and arresting as they were that morning. And never had the sight of such a mangy little _schwein _of a man been so welcomed in his eyes.

Yes, life was simply one wonderful segment of good fortune after the other.

"Ah, is that you dear Klaus?" Hans offered his most winning smile as he opened the door for the man to step inside.

The aforementioned Klaus, knowing all too well the underlying viciousness of his current employer, stepped through the frame of the door without having to be coaxed twice. For when Hans was forced to reiterate himself, it was never quite so pleasant to pay witness to as it was the first time around.

"Goodness, have you already found it? You are a slick devil, aren't you?" Hans shook with a victorious bout of laughter, leading his quiet companion into the painfully small living room, with hole-infested carpets and the torn red drapes which twisted and sashayed in the late morning breeze.

A mismatched tea set was arranged on a tin tray over the span of the makeshift coffee table (which looked hand-made by the looks of the dissimilar types of wood that it was fashioned out of) upon which two porcelain cups and a pot of brewed tea were placed. Landa had known already, before he'd even put on his attire for the day, that he'd be expecting a guest, though he did not receive many into his decidedly humble abode.

Mostly because he was not well liked amongst his peers.  
Which was mostly because he made their skin crawl.

But this was one visitor in particular that would either be the highlight of a rather uneventful start of the morning or the source of a foul mood.

Landa could only hope, for the man's sake, that he valued his life enough not to be the cause of the latter.

He made a grand gesture toward the monochrome, age-worn settee across from where he stood and only after his guest had made himself comfortable (as comfortable as a mouse could be in the clutches of a rather hungry cat) did Landa finally sit down and begin pouring the tea. Klaus appraised the surroundings, compared them to Landa's strange aura of regality…

He did not seem to fit in such derelict settings.

"Sugar_?" _Landa offered mildly.

"No thank you, _Herr _Landa.-"

"Nonsense!" Landa cried, a sound which verged quite dangerously on a domineering, irritated tone of voice. "There will be no opposition here, amongst friends. Coffee then? It is not as nice as an espresso, I suppose. What do poor men like me know of espresso? Such comforts are reserved for the rich, of course. But it will ward off the chill…"

"Chill, sir?" Klaus swallowed nervously at the lump growing in the back of his throat. "It is a very mild day…"

"My dear Klaus…I know the state of the weather as well as you do, let me assure you of that straight away," Landa smiled wolfishly. "Now, look at you. You _are_ trembling. _Surely_ you are cold?"

Klaus' eyes wandered toward the open window, picking up on Landa's discreet accusation. The man knew all too well that he was being swindled into confessing, gently of course because the gentleman was nothing if not tender when he lulled his prey into a very false sense of security, as a gentleman ought to with his ill-fated guests (especially the ill-fated, for it would be their last earthly enjoyment) …had he the necessary information or did he not?

That was the question that would decide for him which outcome he would be awarded or, on the contrary, _suffer_…both at Landa's terrifyingly _competent_ hands.

"A little, yes," Klaus replied, blinking away any traces of lying tell in his eyes. He attempted another shiver, just to keep the façade authentic enough for Landa to be satisfied and move on (out of boredom, out of irrelevance, whichever he preferred).

Just as he hoped, the _monster _abruptly switched subjects. "Now, Klaus…I _know_ you did not come here without the documents I requested?"

"Of course not, _herr_. I made sure not to forget them," the man replied, shaking his head when Landa offered a pitcher of water. He could detect the nearly undetectable fall of Landa's expression then (though his eyes never, ever changed from their penetrating circumspection), as if a plan had been thwarted.

Klaus was immediately relieved that he had followed his gut on that count, certain that he had only just cheated death's hand by an inch.

A silence ensued as both men had nothing to say, one just barely enduring the awkwardness of the quiet and the other inflicting the pain of discomfiture himself. Landa did not seem to move or blink or even _move _as he allowed his guest a moment to read into him, perhaps find the hint he was sure he was so blatantly advertising. _If you have them, then **where **in the hell are they?_

Alas, there was no reaction to his offer. The man was either a simpleton or Landa was even more so adept at concealing his _true _self from the world than he thought (he simply loved to underestimate himself at times…to always know oneself and one's capabilities got to be so very _tedious _if exhausted too early in the game).

"And might where these documents be? I assume they are not invisible, or else how would they serve their purpose?" Landa chuckled softly, but the edge of steely irritation to its musicality did not go unnoticed by Klaus. He knew he was breaching dangerous territory…if the charm was beginning to falter and the insistence pushing through, it was only a matter of time before he ceased to be useful.

"Of course, herr. How terribly foolish of me," Klaus offered an appeasing smile, which Landa duly disregarded. All he wanted was that folder, or whatever sort of case the papers arrived in, and he'd allow a little flexibility on his part…spare the man his outward cruelty and redress the disguise, as it was a little less terrifying than the former.

The folder was handed over an untouched tray of tea. "Here. All of it is there, you can check for yourself."

It was checked and with a slight arch of the brow, a nondescript expression much to Klaus' dismay, Landa put the papers aside.

He heaved a great sigh and the side of his mouth quirked.

The poor boy didn't know whether to say his last prayers to his beloved God or thank the heavens for being spared at the Devil's hands.

Landa's eyes fixed themselves unswervingly on the man sitting across from him. "Won't you at the very least have a little tea, Klaus?" He asked gently. "You look so _very_ cold. Now, you are a young man and may very well be immune to the precariousness of a strong chill, but in your ruffled state, you are at risk for catching your _death_ in here! I do insist as a host…I will not have any of my guests allowing themselves to put their lives in jeopardy when they are here."

He gave a sultry little chortle and poured a cup of the brew.

All Klaus could think at that moment was that his host was right…even in his long-term state of unemployment, it was so obviously _Landa's_ job to put his life in jeopardy, not his own at all.

"Please, herr, I couldn't."

Landa did not say anything at all, only fixed his mouth in the vaguest form of a villainous scowl.

Klaus reached over the tray and took the cup farthest away from him, hoping it would be his last chance for survival. All the while, as he brought the chipped china to his lips, his mind whirred with a jumble of last prayers…just in case.

He felt a little better concerning his choice when the other cup was taken without even a pause for consideration. Landa sipped noisily at his tea, watching his guest over the rim of his cup, as if to make sure his hospitality was not rudely rejected.

The man smiled offhandedly when Klaus finally tilted his head back and downed the entire contents of the cup in one massive gulp. It was hard to swallow, but he managed…anything to detain Landa's plan. If that meant drinking the damned drink, so be it.

Klaus nearly flew out of his skins when Landa suddenly leaped into conversation without warning (and was not at all gentle about it either). "Do you want to know what I find so very interesting about men and their prayers?" He laughed, still clutching the fine china. "Most do not even know who, or what in some cases, they are praying _to_."

"I was not praying, herr." The man insisted.

Landa inclined his head, his countenance unflinching. "_Weren't_ you?" he asked.

"I solemnly vow, herr, that I was not. I do not believe prayer has any influence on life or death at all."

"Oh, Klaus…do not _solemnly _do anything. Life is much too solemn without adding to the desperation and the misery and…well, you understand my meaning, I'm sure."

Landa's smile did not dissipate. "Besides! You do not fool me at all! You need not hide behind pretenses. Why, we're both gentlemen of opinion here, perhaps even spirituality on your part."

Klaus did not say anything.

He was much too distracted by the fact that the world was beginning to spin beneath him.

"Why, it's plain to see that a man who participates in praying may boast an agreeable level of faithfulness, if not the sweetness of naiveté that most women _adore _in a potential beau. But I do believe that perhaps, by hailing the sky as if it were some otherworldly savior, humanity underestimates its own ability to salvage, to thrive without some sort of faith to rely on. Don't you agree, Klaus?"

"I cannot _breathe." _Klaus gasped, clutching at his throat.

Landa's mouth turned up at the corners in a cruel little smile. "Of course you don't agree. That is quite all right…all men must…what is that saying? Have their two cents? Come now, you've been to America… isn't that how they say it?"

One last gurgle burst forth from Klaus' throat as he staggered forward in a pitiful attempt to catch his stolen breath. His head slammed against the corner of the coffee table and the body was still. Landa inclined his head, studying the corpse for a moment, then moved to kneel beside it. He plunged one ungloved hand into the breast pocket of the jacket and pulled out the passport and wallet that he had asked him to bring.

Loyal to disloyalty to the end, no matter how truly terrified he'd been of his employer.

The name did not read Klaus Etzel at all, but _Reginald Abbott. _Certainly not German at all, but British!

Why, the _nerve_.

Landa's austere gaze lifted from the incriminating belongings. His victorious smirk unfurled like a wisp of smoke. "A penny for your thoughts?"

A bout of nonchalant laughter filled the tiny room (which was a kitchen, a dining room and a living room all rolled up in one substandard package) as Hans Landa rose to his feet once again.

And he permitted himself a little room for indulgence in his own _droll_ jest.

Just because it was all too tantalizingly _funny_.

* * *

It was not long after Herr Standartenführer Kessler arrived in his office that morning that he received a letter. He'd been shuffling a few important documents regarding the registry of one Herr Armon Strom into the organization that would have occupied the entirety of his afternoon with going through the particulars.

But the papers he had planned on pouring over for hours and using as an excuse to escape the constant interruptions were roughly, and quickly, shoved aside when he discovered the contents of the letter. Kessler reached for the phone and was very adamantly dialing for someone, _anyone, _he didn't care who, to fetch the author of such a disgusting allegation in no time at all.

Before the line had even been connected, there was a polite, but firm knock at the door.

"What is it?! Oh, just come in!" Kessler shouted from behind his desk, slamming the phone back down as he realized the advantageous opportunity.

A young Private opened the door slightly so that only his upper body was visible to the Colonel. "There is a man here to see you, Herr Standartenführer. His name is Hans Landa...have you an appointment with him?"

Hans Landa. _Exactly_ the repugnant character Kessler had been meaning to summon (or, in his case, have someone summon for him).

Kessler waved his hand harshly, sending the rather confused Private away. "Let him _in _and then promptly _leave._"

The Private did as he was asked, murmuring behind the door for the man in question to step in before departing from the hall altogether. He left two men in his wake, one very flustered Colonel with a reputation for furious outbursts and the other a mere specter in comparison…no one of consequence at all.

When Hans Landa walked in, however, the atmosphere of the room began to swiftly alter. It was colder somehow, though Kessler had the wrought iron stove in the corner simply blazing with a steady heat that encompassed the entirety of the small office and the windows were all tightly sealed.

It was almost as if the Devil himself had walked in.

But it was most certainly not the Devil at all. Only a man, who was decidedly short and poor by the look of him and his poor apparel. His clothes were shabby, the most significant sign of his poverty and of the economical state of the outside world, with holes decorating the gray, wool jacket he wore and a torn cap drawn over his pale forehead. He looked boyishly handsome, if anything, despite the gauntness of his figure that revealed, perhaps, long-term starvation from his lack of employment and funds. All that seemed unsettling about him, which Kessler took note of right away, was his eyes...cold, they were, and a sort of plain gray that, regardless of their common, unassuming color, spoke volumes of self-proclaimed authority.

Kessler pointed to the chair positioned before his desk. "Sit down. _Now_."

Most of the men under his command, Kessler had always remember to notice, would have looked as if they _suffered_ from the all-consuming thought that they could not reach the chair fast enough for the Colonel's taste. It had become a bit of a game for him, to see which pair of legs could move the swiftest across the stretch of the long room.

But this one…he lingered, looking unfazed by the domineering tone, and took his time in approaching the desk. He gestured inquiringly to the only chair in the room, arching his brows as if to ask if that was the Colonel's preference.

A blatant confrontation of power if Kessler had ever seen one before.

As if it were rightfully his, no matter what political title proved superior over him, and he wanted the Colonel to know that he _knew it _too.

"I'm to expect you're the man who penned this letter?" The Colonel lifted the paper as Hans settled into the chair. "It's a remarkable story, I'll give you that, but not a single damn word of it is true."

Hans was not at all deterred by this news. "I do apologize, Colonel Kessler, for sending such a dreadful letter at all and regret having to write it!" Hans sighed mournfully, fastening his hands in his lap. "But in light of the situation, it was necessary. As you have already read, I am one of the few who are privy to the circulation of a distressing rumor about your wife."

"How do you know of my wife? You are no man of title and you are obviously not in the same league as our standard of living. Therefore you have never met her." Kessler gestured to Hans' clothes. "Therefore, you must not know what you are talking about. You want some money? Is that what you want? Here…"

He dug around in his pocket for a moment before taking out his hand and revealing a small gold coin. After checking its worth, he tossed it toward Hans. "Go back to that watering hole you stumbled out of and leave a man to his work, won't you?"

The man's jaw seemed to harden as he looked up from the coin, his eyes narrowing slightly, at the Colonel's accentuation of Hans' social inferiority and poverty.

But it did not seem that he was all that slighted by the Colonel's irreverent stereotyping (or if he was, he did not show it).

A vastly charming and conciliatory smile appeared on the man's face. "Herr Colonel, you betray your reputation as a man of observation. Simply because I do not own a lavish apartment and wear fine clothes as you do does not mean I am any less able to know of the world's goings-on and the importance of the people in it. Berlin has many districts and a variety of people…not only the affluent who have escaped the wrath of Germany's Depression."

"All right, you've made your point…you can read and write and you've obviously heard of me." Colonel Kessler paused for a moment, studying the impassive face before him. "This letter here, it states that the rumors involve my wife Hannelore. They say she is a _Juden. _Is this true?"

"I have heard them myself,_ Herr _Colonel," Hans replied.

Kessler did not at all like such an ambiguous answer. "You have _participated_ in these rumors?"

"On the contrary, my dear Standartenführer…I find them crude and ignorant and I do not take pleasure in hearing of them at all. Anyone with a right mind and an astute eye would see that Frau Kessler is not only a woman devoted to Germany, but a native as well! Why, it's absurd to consider such gossip to be true…how could a Jew love our country so adamantly, with their race being so very removed from us in every way?"

Everything the man said seemed to be refuting the rumors, but something in his air provided enough vague insinuations to have the Colonel reeling over many possibilities. It was almost haughty, assured…as if he knew something the Colonel didn't. Or rather, something the Colonel _did_.

"What are you saying, _Herr_ Landa? That it is possible or that it is _impossible_? Pick a damn side and stick to it! None of this…pulling me into these circles as you parade around your true endeavors, what you _really _came here to say. Say them forthright, god _damn it,_ or do not dare to tell me at all!"

Again, Hans did not appear to be at all threatened by the ferocious display. "Standartenführer Kessler…you must not anger yourself. They are merely rumors…" He laughed dismissively, inclining his head in a way that suggested he was finding a way into the Colonel's head. Or had already found it. Now he was just playing his game, counting the minutes before he could proclaim victory and call the shots.

Kessler did not like anyone calling the shots but _him _and that was all there was to it.

"Oh? Is that so? Tell me then, good _Herr _Landa…what is your view of these tall tales. Do you believe them?"

Landa could not restrain his crooked smirk. If Kessler had known him any better, then he would have paid witness to the fact that, through that small quirk of the mouth, Kessler had been defeated in the first part of the game. His voice lowered as he looked up at the Colonel across from him through a curtain of thick lashes, "Why, _herr…_what does one tend to think in a country like ours…with such circumstances to be considered?"

Kessler shot up from his seat, his face turning a hazardous sort of reddish-purple as his hands slammed on the table. Landa was barely able to hide his own overwhelming amusement at such a pathetic sort of spectacle, watching with quiet complacency, his hands still folded contently in his lap in the most genteel manner while the Colonel before him began to unfold like a moth caught in a flame. "That is _not _an answer!"

"A simple refutation would suffice, my good _Standartenführer." _Landa offered placidly.

The man's rage seemed to only swell even further in the face of such arrogant equanimity. "Do you intend to blackmail me you _impudent_ little _schwein_?!"

"Blackmail, _herr? _Now, now…let us not assign what are so obviously good intentions to such a foul choice of language, _hmm_? Why, it would be akin to me calling your wife a _whore_. Now, that is certainly not at all what she is. In fact, I hear she is the most pleasant and faithful woman a man could ever wish to have in a wife, that much I may ascertain by measuring the lengths you will go to protect her and her reputation as a wife of Germany. Your loyalty commends her, _Standartenführer_! But where were we? Forgive me and my terrible habit of longwinded conversation…" He inhaled sharply and shifted his gaze, meeting the Colonel's dead on. For once, Kessler wanted to look away.

But Hans then waved his hand as if to catch an escaping thought and broke his concentrated state, that same smug smile still locked in place. How _simple _it all was, to trap a man in his own four walls of truth and lies and watch him squirm in his abstract prison.

Kessler watched as something ominous began to reflect in the man's unreadable face.

"Enough of this dance," Kessler managed to breathe out, horrified. "Once and for all, quiet my suspicions. What do you _think _you know of my wife? What lies have you uncovered?"

The intensity of the formidable shadow stretched his hand over Hans Landa's countenance, leaving all but his eyes, which smoldered in comparison to such vacuity, completely devoid of all emotion.

But even in his silence, the man spoke volumes. Hans knew Wilhelm Kessler's deepest, darkest secret…he knew and yet he'd never met him before in his life.

"I see." Kessler stated simply, his expression turning to stone as he tried to retain the last of his masquerade. He was at a loss as to what to say in such a condemning situation as he found himself then.

Should he surrender?

Or comply?

_Shoot_ the man and claim self-defense?

_What_ _to do?_

Hans continued as if he had not just caused the upheaval of one man's entire comfortable world. "In all sincerity, I am merely proving my abilities to you. That I am, in every aspect of the word, a most skilled detective. It is a shame to waste such dexterity and such a sharp eye as I have on the simple and _boring _task of rounding up the ones that we _can_ find, even if I could successfully apply into the SS without hesitation on your organization's behalf. But, as it is, I am not purely German. I have a touch of Russian in my blood. Can you see it, my _Cossack_ blush?" He laughed at the droll witticism.

Kessler's fists gathered beneath his desk, staying his desire to kill the impudent bastard sitting before him, laughing not at his joke, but at the Colonel's situation. Oh, how he wanted to _kill _him. Tear him to pieces!

"It's only just enough to deny me my rightful place in the SS ranks, you see," Hans sighed wistfully. "_But!_ Let us venture into the possibility that the regiment hired a man, however impure he was in regards to ancestry, who could _unearth _the men who have escaped our country's well deserved fury. The prisoners hiding in the gutters, underneath the floors of the common traitor, which, may I remind you, would be catching two birds with one stone. Is that how you say it?"

The Colonel narrowed his eyes to the slightest degree. Ah yes, Landa thought…that telltale battle between confusion and rage. To look a fool and not understand? Or to ignore the treacherous brute before him and resort to the most primal urges – carnage.

Hans would applaud him for incorporating both, but he was not quite sure whether or not the man was capable of such a merging. In fact, the Standartenführer was a bit of a puzzle to him…what on _earth _were his intentions? Did he love the Jewish whore? Or was it his own good title he was so steadfastly devoted to?

So many possibilities to attend to. It was so very exhausting to consider them all at once, in the midst of such an exhilarating sport of catching swindlers in their useless acts of cloak and daggers!

He watched as Kessler's muscles snapped beneath their skins as Hans lifted his hands to his collar, straightening it just a little with a small clearing of his throat. Yes, he was quite ready for a good threat. That would earn the Colonel's complete submission. But to uncover the man's design…it was imperative that he found it or else the entire operation would be ruined.

"Now, it is in the countryside that we must go, my good Colonel…those are the rats worth catching!" Landa chuckled wholeheartedly. "_That, _my dear _herr_, is a true game of cat and mouse! Don't you _agree_, Standartenführer?"

Kessler's throat gave an aggressive rumble, quite the contrast against Hans' silent, wolfish grin. "Damn the prisoners of war! They do not matter!" His fist pounded against the desk once again.

An exhibitionist…the man wanted to be sure it was seen that he had the advantage in size as he knew he did not have it in wiles.

But what was he so afraid of losing? He kept his heart well guarded, that was for certain.

"Why do you dig into _my _personal life?" Kessler raged, subduing his voice, with great difficulty, as it trembled with uncontrollable anger so that only the man across from him could hear it. "It is none of your concern what sort of wife I have, who I assure you is not a Jew at all! Why, if I ever found that my wife was a piece of filth, I'd throw her into the gutters without delay! You are very dangerously close, _Herr _Landa, of making an _ass _of yourself quite quickly!"

"And the daughter, sir? She is not a_ Juden _as well?"

"You're either thick or hard of hearing, _herr. _But since you seem so intent on receiving your answer, I will tell you the truth..." He sat down at his desk again, trying to calm himself in the midst of so much exasperation. "Both Hanne and Hannelore are of _pure _German ancestry."

Ah, so it _was_ the wife. A strange partiality…Landa would have guessed, at first, that the man preferred the daughter instead. From what he had picked up in aimless conversation, the wife was quite the petty, ignorant little burden…it was a strange occurrence indeed that a man abundant in intelligence and importance could fall in love with such _inferiority_.

"Standartenführer, _please, _you must forgive my curiosity. It was born of good intentions, I assure you! You see, if I wished to prove to you that I was, in fact, as astounding in my ability to find that which cannot be found, then how on earth might I have convinced you otherwise to help me into your organization and ensure that I received the occupation that I was vying for? You are the sole proprietor of the whole truth of your situation and since it was, in fact, you I was hoping to impress, it would be only natural that I choose you as, and please excuse my choice of analogy _herr, _the _scapegoat. _Now if I had chosen a different man and a different past to exercise my talents on, how would you have known if I was reporting false evidence to you? Surely you would not."

Landa emitted a soft, placatory sort of laugh at the silliness of it all, as if to put to rest all of the Colonel Kessler's worries on the subject of his possible ruination.

But indeed, to Kessler, that was not the impression _at all_.

Kessler's dread, however amiable Landa's gesture was, could not be alleviated so easily. If every condemning secret he had wished to tuck away from the suspicious world had not been suddenly unearthed by a man he was _certain_ was capable of treachery, he might have joined in on the expressive mirth.

But he could hardly laugh when his stomach turned in on itself as the secrets unfolded from the darkest, deepest caverns of his insides. Not to mention his lungs, which were utterly choked with an insatiable fear, and he felt like he would scream from such incredible pressure.

Unraveling inside like some great, unsolved mystery, he merely watched as his accuser chuckled, dismissing his unrest with an unabashed charm…as if it were all one enormous joke.

As if Kessler were the butt of the jest and Hans could simply not get enough of it.

At last, the big man would topple over, leaving room for the undiscovered, the rejected, to slip right in and infiltrate his former superiority. It was all very sickening, how utterly composed and agreeable and attractive Hans appeared to the unsuspecting eye, but beneath all those layers of façade there was a blatant cruelty.

A monster that, if only someone would look, would be as plain to see as the day which seeped through Standartenführer Kessler's windows.

Like the night swallowed whole by a tyrannical sun.

"Now that our meeting is complete, I am not at all opposed to allowing you one small favor, since you are such a gentleman to allow me to put you in such a state of unease. Oh, but please...make it an interesting request. I am not at all pleasant or tolerant when I am bored...if you take my meaning."

"I offer you my daughter."

Hans' brow rose quizzically. "In exchange for what?"

"Keeping my personal secret _out_ of public scrutiny."

"And this is to include my first demand?"

"Yes. I will have the papers drawn up. You will have your place in the SS."

The man nodded his head in agreement, but Kessler knew all too well that his attempt to have the upper hand in the situation had failed. He might have had the official superiority, the corporeal dominance, but Hans Landa was, in all aspects of the word, the prevailing victor.

Hans sighed, contemplative. "Oh, all right. I suppose that will do. But your daughter, if she is a bore, I must warn you...my fingers are quite restless when I am not entertained." The man patted on the breast pocket of his threadbare overcoat where the unmistakable hiding place of a pistol could be found as a cold sweat broke out across Kessler's forehead.

"I assure you..." Said the Colonel. "She's the most intriguing young woman I know."

"Oh, but sir…you may be biased. How on earth should I trust your judgment?"

"I give you my word."

A painful silence followed in which Hans studied the Colonel and, in turn, Kessler began to fidget under the man's empty, cold gaze.

"Hm, it really is too bad..." Hans chuckled amiably, folding his hands before him and leaning in, so that the light overhead threw shadows over his eyes. He looked like Death himself leaning over Kessler like a great black veil; he could almost feel the inhuman chill settle over the darkened room.

"I do believe we've struck a deal, Herr Standartenführer Kessler." Hans offered his hand.

Kessler reluctantly took it.

Knowing he was sriking a deal with the Devil himself.

"Well, I really should be off! There are things to put in order, people to see." Hans rose from his perch, pausing in the midst of straightening his coat as another thought occurred to him. "Oh, and _do_ be careful with what you say to your peers, my dear Standartenführer. We wouldn't want anymore nasty rumors spreading throughout Germany, now would we? What would we do without our fine Colonel Kessler to mingle with? I'll say it'd be quite a dull world indeed if anything..._tragic_ were to happen to you and your dear, _beautiful_ family."

Hans smiled wolfishly and gently slid a portrait of the Kessler family toward the Colonel. Kessler swallowed hard and took it under his palm, guarding it from the monster before him.

"Think of the world around you, if it were to lose such an asset as you are!" Hans reminded him. "And do not forget that we are such good friends now, _Wilhelm_...you may divulge anything you like in me." He put his fingers up to his lips, shushing him quietly and raising a comical brow.

"For I am the soul of discretion in the presence of good friends," Hans assured him…

"I will never, _ever_ tell."

* * *

Late Spring of 1939…

"_Mama_, _really." _I fussed, tearing her hands away from the collar of my jacket. She'd been fretting over it for the past five minutes, since I'd put it on.

"For God's sake, Hanne! Sit still! There is still a wrinkle there in that blouse that refuses to come out! You cannot go there to meet him looking as if you've had a tussle with the neighborhood whore, now can you? Of course not! And your father agrees with me, don't you Wilhelm?"

I cast a pleading look over at my father, who was sitting quietly by the fireplace with a glass of brandy resting on his lap, balanced there by a lax grip. He did not move, even when my mother's shrill voice filled the living room. It was strange, seeing him so utterly consumed by his own musing.

As a creature of habit, my father was usually much too busy sharing his thoughts to take the time to sort through them.

My mother didn't seem to notice.

"_Wilhelm!" _She shrieked.

He looked over at last, his hand falling away from his temple as the trance was broken.

"_Damn you_….can't you ever leave me in peace?" He growled.

My mother squealed with delight, ignoring my father's complaint. "You see, Hanne? We only want the best for you. And there is certainly no winning this man by going there looking like an utter tramp! You must impress him…you must be the picture of elegance, but not too forthright with your wiles as men like to learn of them by _themselves. _You must be mysterious! Do you understand, Hanne? Or all will be ruined and we will never see Hans again!"

"What a tragedy that would be!" My father exhaled loudly as he stood from the cream-colored armchair he'd been lounging in and placed the half-full brandy glass on the empty mantle.

Rest and relaxation were nearly impossible to attain in the presence of my mother, especially when she was flustered as she was at the moment. He probably abandoned all hope for rumination entirely.

"Of course it would be a tragedy, Wilhelm!" Mother exclaimed, put out by his statement. "For Hanne to be refused because she is a stupid girl and cannot listen to her mother? Especially when I know so much about men, have so much knowledge of their workings and such! You are a simpleton, really, Wilhelm if you think that Hanne can survive this Depression without a husband to support her!"

He shook his head, frustrated beyond the normal _cantankerous_ margins of objection he expressed on a daily basis. "Hannelore, you really are the most vapid woman I know. Marrying Hanne off to some rich, well-to-do man has nothing to do with securing her economically! It has _everything _to do with you controlling every aspect of her life! Even her _damnable_ marriage."

"You unforgivable _arschloch! _How dare you say that to me, after all I've done for Hanne?" My mother's eyes flashed in the gold-washed light. "You should be ashamed of yourself, you German _schwein_!"

"No, I have every reason to congratulate myself on staying out of this whole affair!" He retorted, his voice rising. "If you had any sense, woman, you would see that this man is completely wrong for Hanne and that she does not even love him!"

Sensing an ensuing argument, I decided to intervene. It was apparent that my father, who was usually much more cognizant of my emotions, had failed to realize that a twist of fate had somehow grasped a vice hold on our lives. For once, I actually agreed with my mother's choice for me, no matter how opposed I was to the match in the beginning.

If normality had been allowed to continue to reign over our household, and my mother continued to have bad taste, things would have been different.

On the contrary, they would have been the _same_.

"_Mama _is right for once, actually," I said, ignoring the insulted huff behind me. "I _do _have feelings for Hans and, if he happened to ask me to marry him, I would not hesitate to accept him."

Father looked at me through narrowed eyes, studying my face as to catch any conflict I was attempting to hide, any falsehood. If I was only trying to mollify my mother and her ten-year-old hopes to marry me off someday, he would have known.

But he found nothing of that sort when he looked at me.

At least, I hoped he didn't.

"Hanne," he murmured, sighing as he gently touched my cheek. "I can only hope you know what you're doing."

I frowned as I took the words in, which was hard as mother started her infernal shrieking again.

"Of course she knows! She's never been more certain of anything in her life. Isn't that right Hanne?"

My father ignored her.

"At least let me go with you, Hanne," he beseeched me, taking my hands into his and squeezing them softly. He looked down at me with such clear apprehension in his clouded blue eyes that it began to worry me as well. "I do not trust this man any further than I could throw him."

In an attempt to laugh off the tense moment, I tried my hand at a petty joke. "That would not be very far at all, I agree."

I afforded a small laugh, but I seemed to be the only one amused by it.

Mother looked furious; father was, in turn, anxious. _Unsettled_.

Father was never unsettled. He was the rock upon which the foundations of this family stood. He was the beacon in the east, a citadel of light which we looked to for guidance and hope when the world seemed to turn its back on us, crush every hope and dream we ever had stored away for Germany's great awakening.

"Nonsense!" My mother squawked behind him. He rolled his eyes, the delirium he had been swept into broken by her high-pitched protestations.

Some things never changed. My mother was as static as ever.

He whirled on her, a force not to be reckoned with.

"What do you mean _nonsense_?" He growled. "Do you honestly think it's safe for Hanne to be out there and meet this snake charmer alone? No chaperone to make sure he doesn't dishonor her or deflower her or do something _infinitely_ worse?"

"You are a stupid man if you think Hans would do anything to harm Hanne!" My mother retorted, shoving him out of the way to reach my collar once again. "He is in love with her. I know it!"

"You know nothing, Hannelore," He shouted, his voice as rough as gravel. He raised a reproachful finger and pointed it straight at my mother, affording her no sympathy, no humility or uncertainty in his allegation. "And this will all come to nothing in the end. Just like everything else you think you are certain of, you _selfish_ woman! This will fail and the only person it will hurt will be Hanne, not _you_."

"Oh, hush, you! It is you who knows nothing!" My mother smiled victoriously as she finally straightened out the infuriatingly stubborn lapel. "There! You're ready, aren't you?"

"Yes, _mama," _I replied, watching over my shoulder as my father left the room in a fit of indignation. This was normal for him when mother got to be _too _irritating, but something in him was different…something was definitely _not right_.

Mother took my face into her hands and patted them gently, forcing me to look straight into her eyes. They wrinkled around their weathered edges, lost in some ecstasy that I wouldn't understand until I had my own children, my own daughter to marry off or my own son to recommend to the girls of Berlin.

"Ah, my beautiful Hanne! You're going to be engaged after tonight, I am sure of it! Oh, I can hardly believe it! Can you darling? No, I'm sure you can't…you're not that observant, not as I am at least…Now, go on…put your hat on and _leave _my dear girl. You'll be late! And we don't want that! No, we surely don't!"

She herded me toward the door, shoving the hat into my hands as we went.

I looked toward the study one last time, where my father had disappeared, before my mother threw me out of the house altogether.

I could only hope that I would win his full approval in the end, as it seemed he was conflicted about my choice.

Perhaps I could convince him with news of an engagement and the betraying, tangible proof of a new fiancé – a solid diamond rock to boast on my ring finger.

There was a chill in the air when I stepped out of the family apartment. It might have been just my imagination, my nerves conjuring up some figment of the fear that coiled in my stomach and manifesting it as physical to warn me. Warn me of what, I was not sure.

The severity of my rash decision? A foretelling of the near future?

A girl like me, who was always young and impressionable no matter how learned she was and what kind of worldly family she could possess, could only know so much.

Especially when most of what I accomplished and loved was related to and rooted in the body of the earth and not its inhabitants at all.

It occupied my mind as I walked down the streets of Berlin, the weight of my choice to marry Hans (if marriage was what he was proposing). Most of my thoughts turned to my mother, who might shoot me if I decided to refuse him, but this was only a small part of my acceptance of him.

I could admit readily to anyone that I was smitten with him.

Who couldn't be? Despite his age, which usually turned a man's appearance sour and smothered all former ability to woo any sort of female (whether young or old), he had stunned me in the best sense with not only his refreshing personality, but also his forbearance with my mother and her less than desirable traits.

It had seemed that my father agreed with my choice when my mother had read the letter to him, although that shadow of doubt had crossed his mind and reflected in his face as clearly as if he had spoken the fear aloud.

It was not his _way, _to worry for me. He'd raised me as an independent woman, to take care of myself, though in the past I did tell him many times that I believe he'd failed me on at least that part. He'd always took it as a reflection on myself as opposed to his parenting, which was what it was, but always believed that I had the Kessler strength in me.

Despite his being wrong, I did not want to deter what little faith he had in me…  
I stopped bringing the subject up long ago.

And in all of this, my feelings for Hans were the foundation for my nervousness. My father's approval and my mother's adamancy were only added layers to my basest emotions, and even if they were to voice their opposition to the marriage, I'd have married him anyway in a heartbeat.

Perhaps half of one, if he'd have me.

If he'd have me.

The biggest _if _of them all as it would determine the lasting effect on all three of us if all this turned out to be some sort of trick or I had assumed too much from the start.

My mother would be devastated.

My father, perhaps relieved.

Contrary to how certain I was of my parents' reactions, I did not know what I would do in the event that things did not go according to plain. I had never been connected with a man so closely before…

What would happen, I asked myself as I traipsed the bustle of the city corridors, if I did not receive the proposal I was expecting?

Besides, it was silly to rest all of one's hopes on the meaning of a flower.

Even I, being so utterly devoted to them as I was, could see _that_.

I had to sidestep a distracted woman, her unruly child and the whistling, seemingly happy man that I assumed was her husband to enter the café, pulling me out of my thoughts entirely. For a moment, I watched them pass, looking as happy as any family ought to be even in the shadow of national Depression.

Still, their happiness thrived. Their spirits remained. They couldn't be robbed of their inherent contentment if the world had ripped it from underneath their feet and torn it in front of their eyes.

We Germans were a strong people.  
No one could deny us for at least _that_ victory over them.

The family disappeared around a corner, leaving me all alone, standing in the window of the dimly lit café, the watery yellow lights spilling over the walks and casting gold shadows across them. I turned and looked inside, only to find myself recognizing a pair of sober gray eyes and a stubborn little smirk marking the corners of a familiar mouth among the few that occupied the small restaurant. The man in question, good, dear Hans, was sitting at a small place in a private corner of the eatery, plainly dressed in a dark tweed coat and a white dress shirt like a stark shock of white beneath it. Peeking out from beneath the beige-colored tablecloth was the slightly tattered hem of gray trousers and a pair of simple black shoes that looked scuffed and dull in the light. There was a gray cap on his head, pulled back as to not risk shadowing his distinguished features, but it was just enough to give him a sliver of anonymity.

However small the sliver was.

He nodded toward the seat across from him, a steaming cup of tea and something infinitely more appealing lying on my side of the table.

A Casablanca lily.

My favorite flower.

I matched his smirk and lowered my eyes to my shoes as I entered the bistro, listening to each click of my heels against the hard floor and a quick, throbbing heartbeat.

When I looked up, he was there. Still smirking. Still as handsome and enigmatic in his appearance as ever.

After a moment of silence, I cleared my throat. "I would ask how you knew, but I would be much too afraid to discredit you and your knack for close observation."

He glanced transiently at the Casablanca Lily, glowing a sort of ghostly white as it lay there, waiting for me to take it, to inhale its soft, sweet fragrance and feel the petals beneath my fingertips where it definitely belonged.

"Why, the very same way I know _everything_, Hanne!" He exclaimed pleasantly, and then motioned toward the empty seat with a grand, yet small wave of his hand.

I obliged and sat down rather quickly. "Don't tell me you're a magician, too."

"You know how the conjurer makes his magic so enchanting?" He asked, folding his hands in that pensive sort of way before him, his elbows leaning on the table. "He leaves his methods to imagination. People, they go to great lengths to convince the mind that it is not just a worldly trick. No, they indulge the mystery, the chance that perhaps there is more out there than what meets the eye…if they were to tell, what sort of illusionist would he be?"

"A very poor one," I replied, laughing with him on his choice of analogy. "All right, I'll let you keep your secrets. But only if you tell me why it is you've called me here."

He looked at me, his brow rising in amusement. "I thought it should be entirely obvious. Forgive me if I had mislead you into thinking this was a purely meaningless escapade, it was rather thoughtless of me, I admit it."

"Then you mean to tell me something?" I asked, my heartbeat quickening again. "Something…important?"

He leaned in, feigned a severity that came across as comical, especially as his manner assumed a playful sort of air. "Something _very _important, my dear, dear Hanne." He then sat back again.

He took my hand without warning and kissed it. His lips slid over my knuckles, sinfully slow and soft as ever.

I strained to remain steadfast and catch my stolen breath. "Then you are proposing to me?"

His brow rose once more as he swept the wrinkles from his side of the tablecloth. "_Hm_," he grunted, thoughtful. "You are surprised, are you?"

He did not sound all that pleased in hearing I was surprised.

I inclined my head, trying to catch his eye again. They were solidly attached to the table cloth and its seemingly arresting creases. "Should I be?"

At last, his focus returned to me from the stubborn wrinkles, looking as if he had given up on drawing them out of the cloth altogether. His expression seemed that of boredom, but there was no sign or particular look in his eyes that designated the cause of his listlessness – me or the table.

Something else in his air, something I'd not seen in him before that moment, told me he _wanted _to keep me guessing.

"Well, I would hope that I did not come across as a business deal, dear girl, by all means." He replied. "That is, exempting my other small gift for you…your florist shop that you wanted so _ardently_."

For a moment, all I could do was try and remember how to breathe. How could a man like him, who could so obviously have any woman of his choosing, marry me? I might have deemed it the cruelest, most unacceptably selfish thing in the world to accept his hand, if I were not only thinking of myself in that very moment.

In fact, the women of Berlin (of the world, really) who would suffer the loss of Hans Landa's availability were the farthest from my mind. All I could think of was how happy I was, how happy I _would _be…

If I said _yes_.

A simple yes that would change the course of my life and alter my routine entirely.

No more lounging on the ottoman by the window on late spring mornings and early winter nights with a book in my lap, rain tapping on the window or sunshine filtering through the glass. There would be no more listening to my mother and her endless train of _prospects_ and no more enduring the eternal bickering of my antagonistic, yet cherished parents. Discussions by the fireplace with my father of the flower shop I longed to open and the necessary chatter of loans and investments it entailed would soon be over, as Hans already financed the last payments.

No more solitary life.

Half of my life, my livelihood and all of my loyalty would belong to him.

He looked up from the white tablecloth. The entirety of his expression was completely blank as he awaited my answer, appraised any telling signs in my demeanor that would give it away before I even voiced it.

I took his hand; the callus of his fingers brushed against my skin as he reciprocated the gesture and gently squeezed my hand. "I accept," I said.

A satisfied grin cracked the severity of his countenance in an instant as he reached into the pocket of his tweed coat, pulling a small, twinkling trinket out of the hidden compartment. It was as if he had extracted a star out of the sky, the way it sparkled so vibrantly even in the lack of lighting.

But I knew _better_ than that...

My breath hitched.  
The engagement ring.

He outstretched his hand and took mine, slipping the ring ceremoniously over my finger.

It fit perfectly, just like he knew it would.

He waved a hand, his fingers flourishing like flower petals unfurling in the spring. A sort of amused smile touched both corners of his mouth, a stroke of mischievous light captured in his expression. "_Merveilleux!"_

I couldn't have put it more perfectly if I had even tried.

* * *

"Oh Hanne! You're home early!"

I rolled my eyes as I slipped out of my overcoat. It was actually quite late and I had had perhaps a few too many cups of chamomile tea (on Hans' insistence, of course) and I was in no mood to hear my mother's melodramatic frustrations.

Of course, she had probably not even been looking at the great, mahogany grandfather clock in the corner...probably her wedding periodical again, if I wasn't mistaken.

All I wanted, from the moment I left Hans in the foyer of our apartment building with a promise to attend his superior's small tea party with him, was to settle into my precious ottoman with my German translated copy of _Systema Naturae_ and watch the rest of the world amble down the walks of Berlin. To home, to the next bar…wherever they might go next in their weary travels through the veil of the warm, spring night.

But mother was adamant.  
Her eyes were alight with that spark of world-rooted madness that was hers alone, one that no one else could imitate for all the acting coaching in the world.

She meant to know what had happened in great detail and would not spare me her wrath if I risked crossing her.

It was no use.  
Any way I looked at the situation, I was trapped in her little web.

"Hanne! You ungrateful daughter, you must answer me! What did you say?" She paused, her breath catching. "Did you _refuse_ him?"

"Of course not, mama," I replied quietly. I did not look at her; she would only try to find something in my face that wasn't there if I did. "I would _never_ think of doing such a thing."

"Don't you lie to me, girl!" Her chest rose and fell quickly, her voice shrill. "You were talking of those damned flowers again weren't you! I knew I shouldn't have let you go alone! Your father is a fool for suggesting it! Why, if it had been left up to me none of this would have happened. You would have walked in here with a ring on your finger and I would have been such a _happy _woman."

She gave an anguished cry and fell into the long-backed chair by the fireplace. "Oh, Hanne! You stupid girl…what will become of us now?!"

Never mind that father had been the one to suggest I have a chaperone and not mother at all.

In fact, ironically enough, she had been the one to insist I go alone.  
Oh, the lengths my mother's imagination would go to ensure she would always be free from blame.

"It is not the end of the world, _mama_," I assured her. "On the contrary, the world is just beginning."

I chuckled as I reached the bookcase near the ottoman, casting her a pitying sideways glance as I let my fingers glide over the spines of my precious collection. She was still reclining in father's tall study seat, the fire nestling a feverish glow in her cheeks and rendering the mad flicker in her eye a demonic sort of yellow.

It had been a long time, however, since my mother managed to scare me with her theatrics.

"Not another word from you! You have _ruined _all my plans for happiness!" She gave a stifled snivel, drawing her small, fragile wrist across her nose. "And you do not even care! How _dare _you? You should not have come home after such ruination! I am sure you slept with him as well? And since you insist on acting like a prostitute, why, you should live like one too in my opinion!"

I sat down on the ottoman, unfazed by her threats. "I did not sleep with him, _mama_. That is not his design at all! We were at the café and all we did was talk and drink tea…Herr Schleiffer can vouch for the time I was present there, not leaving for a moment in the entirety of the two hours I was away."

This seemed to quiet all of my mother's suspicions, but not her misplaced rage.

"Well, I suppose he told you that you weren't pretty enough for him then, did he? That he had another girl in mind entirely? What a dirty _schwein _he is!" She sneered. "Using your precious time like that, when you could have been out meeting another man that is better suited for you, in age and in beauty!"

"Mama, you insult Hans' good character," I replied nonchalantly, turning to the first page of the volume in my lap. The white, rose-printed skirt of my dress glowed silver in the moonlight which filtered through the windowpanes. "He was quite the gentleman and did not tell me any such thing. In fact, he complimented me greatly."

My mother perked up from her slouch in father's chair.

How swiftly the winds of change came and went.

Even as small an insignificant as they were in a family such as ours.

The fire crackled in the heavy silence as she contemplated my vague offering of gossip and I could tell she was thinking hard by the way not even the sound of her breathing reached my ears. All of Hannelore Kessler's world seemed to stop as she entertained the possibility of her daughter's attachment; I could not restrain a smile in honor of my saving Hans' reputation in the family.

Because the only thing worse than a swinger and a cheater in my mother's opinion was a cheating swinger.

At last, a sign of life wandered cautiously over from the other side of the room, taking a quick testing whiff of the offering I had provided. She scrutinized my air, the half of the expression she could see from her vantage point. She seemed to be placated by my lack of smugness and continued on.

"Oh, did he now?" She asked, attempting to play uninterested. But the act did not last and the part fell through as her eagerness won her over "Well, what did he say, Hanne?! I insist you tell me right this instant, after leaving me in such agony these past few hours, wondering if he proposed, if he confessed any feelings for you at all!"

It never occurred to her that it would be worse if I never came home at all to bear her sons and marry perfect German men. No, that was never on my mother's mind, though she cared very much about her plans for me and my propitious future.

Germany was such a secure place now, my father always said; the SS would never let the daughter of a ranking officer go missing.

I heaved a regretful sigh as I snapped Linnaeus' masterpiece shut and swung my legs over the side of the inviting cushion. It had been my hope to read for the duration of my hour before bed and that mother would have been fast asleep upon my arrival, but in retrospect it _had _seemed like too much to wish for. Mother would never even consider sleeping at a time such as this and it was silly of me to think otherwise.

Resigned to my fate, I leaned back on my hands. "_Mama, _you should know better. He gave me a red tulip. Lovers, who know their flower meanings, give the subject of their adoration red tulips as a symbol of their love, you see."

My mother scoffed, flicking her wrist in my general direction as to brush off my scientific contribution. "Oh, you and those flowers! And I suppose you think that Herr Landa _purposefully_ gave you that damned flower, _knowing_ what it meant and such? I would sooner believe in flying pigs than a man knowing _anything_ of the meaning of flowers!"

"Well, then, _mama," _I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "I suppose you should keep your eyes to the sky in the near future."

"You can't honestly suspect, dear Hanne-"

"Not only do I suspect," I assured her. "I _know. _I told him of my love for all things botanical and horticultural at Herr Schwartz's birthday celebration, about three weeks ago. He must've investigated the symbolism of the tulip himself! I would certainly not put it past him, being such a charming and intelligent man. Would _you_, mama?"

"Certainly not!" She exclaimed. "You think I am a simpleton, do you? How _else _do I find such man to handle such an impertinent daughter as you are! I knew very well that he knew of the yellow _tulips_ just as you did! I simply wanted you to be _sure _that you knew, you see. I have more _plans _concerning you than you should know of, Hanne. A great deal of plans."

"Of course, mama," I replied, attempting very hard to contain myself in her presence. "But, you should know, it was a red tulip. Not yellow at all."

"Oh, damn them altogether! I do not care for flowers as you do and you know that well enough not to correct me!" She tied her house robe together in an obstinate, perturbed sort of fashion and rose from father's study chair. "It is late and you and I know well enough that we must visit your Aunt Annaliese tomorrow morning for brunch! And don't you _dare _defy me and stay up all through the night reading those damned books of yours! I want you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow. No lack of sleep will sway me, girl! You are already out of my favor for coming home with nothing but skin on your ring-finger and it will do you very well not to cross me further."

"Annaliese is coming?" I asked, looking up at her as she approached the ottoman. "And you did not think to tell me before?"

"What was to tell? It is only Anneliese!" She pressed a kiss to my cheek as she gave a piercing sort of chortle. "Good heavens, you act as if we were meeting _Hans himself! Besides, _dear girl, I had been expecting an engaged woman to walk through that door! Not just a red tulip and not even a speck of gold on your finger!_"_

"Which we are not, right mama?" I watched her countenance warily, searching for even the slightest of tells. "He is a busy man tomorrow and I would not want you to chase him off by pestering him so!"

"Oh, well, look who has decided to be concerned with her love life for once!" She cried. "I would have assumed that this…anxiety over his approval of you would come sooner than it has, but who am I to complain? I'm only your mother who _expects_ too much of you, who _wishes_ too much for your well-being!"

She snorted her disapproval of me. God forbid I should go an hour or so without knowing about how much of a nuisance I could be sometimes.

"Mama, you know very well that I am very, very grateful for all you've done for me," I replied, standing up from the ottoman and pressing a kiss, in turn, on her flushed cheek. "Who could boast a better mother then I can? Very few, I'm sure."

She smiled then, a genuine little quirk of her mouth that I have seldom seen before on her. Her hand pressed against my cheek, she appraised me in a new light – admiring, grateful. It was true, my mother could be more of a nuisance to me, I was sure, than I was to her.

But it was only a sign that she cared for me.

"You're quite right darling! Quite right." She said and she tapped the point of my chin.

It was only fair that she knew the truth. At first, I had wanted to keep our engagement a secret, at least from _mama_ as she exercised her terrible habit of spreading little whispers of rumor into any ear that would lend its attention to her. But if I did not tell her, she would be cross with me for as long as I lived (perhaps a month or two, give or take).

Besides, she had calmed considerably since I walked in, not ten minutes before. It could be a reward of sorts, for taming her wild tendencies after hearing such alleged news.

"_Mama_," I called after her, catching her just as she reached the dark corridor.

"Yes, what _is _it girl?" She whirled on me in a sudden flare of anger. "I'm quite tired and it's late and you should be getting off to bed now!"

"Oh, but don't you want to know?" I asked, moving toward the settee and easing slowly into the cushions. My mother's eyes gleamed; she hadn't heard any juicy gossip in a long while and the lack of scandal was beginning to affect her. "My secret, that is. You've always said yourself that you've never been one to turn down the opportunity for a good secret, isn't that right?"

For a moment, she simply stared at me, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched hard in deep thought. Then, she sighed. The first sign of surrender.

"Yes, yes...you don't have to tell me what I said before! I can remember things, you know...better than your father, in fact! Well, you're a nuisance, Hanne, but you've caught my interest," she said, moving toward the settee across from me. Her arms crossed. "What on earth could be so important that you have to tell me now? Can't it wait? When we're in public and someone might overhear you? Gossip is good for the reputation you know!"

"Ah, but this cannot wait!" I replied, grinning, I was sure, like a fool. I held out my left hand for her to see the lovely engagement ring that perched there, as delicate as a snowdrop.

She shrieked with glee, wrenching my hand toward her and me with it. My ribs smarted a little from slamming into the coffee table so forcefully, but in light of my mother's happiness, I was able to overlook the ache. "Oh Hanne! Oh, dearest Hanne...my lovely, beautiful, charming daughter!" She looked as if she were about to cry. "Finally! I was afraid you'd never marry, being as stubborn and stupidly independent as you are. But at last! Victory!"

I pulled my hand back from her to its rightful place on my knee and rubbed my sore ribs with the other. _"_Well, let us not forget," I retorted. "There would be no marriage at all if it weren't for at least _half _of my involvement, if not more."

"Whatever you say, dear girl!" She laughed and lunged toward me, placing a kiss on my cheek. "Well! It is time for bed! I cannot be tired tomorrow when I relate all of the details to your dear Aunt Anneliese!"

"Yes, God forbid she should be spared any of the particulars." I quipped, but she did not seem to hear me.

Her hand retreated from my jaw and she turned away, crossing the length of the carpet that separated her from the long corridor which led to her room. In which my father slept peacefully, his snores filling the empty space all the way from the ceiling to the roots of the carpet. All of the apartment was peaceful. Including myself.

"Goodnight Hanne!" She called. "Or should I say, the future Frau Landa?! Oh, what a ring that has! I shall be a grandmother in no time! I'd best break out my best needles-"

She disappeared behind a wall, still chattering exuberantly to herself of all the plans she had concerning grandchildren and wedding parties and, of course, the engagement party itself, leaving me to hear the last hiss of the fire as it drew its last breath on the smothered hearth.

"Good night, mama," I whispered in reply, smiling again as my fingers met with the warmed metal of the ring.

Only the shadows seemed to hear me.


	3. III: Ruinous Reputations

**Author's Notes:** _The longest chapter yet! Stands at 16, 650 words and 30 pages in Microsoft Word, so if you're easily bored, perhaps I should warn you that this story won't have short chapters...perhaps ever. Anyway, beware, there is a scene in which Hanne is viciously compromised at the end there, so don't say I didn't warn you! Here's to hoping I didn't ruin the entire story, ha. I don't think it's enough to warrant an M rating, but still...it's there. Hopefully this isn't too disappointing...I worked on it for days. Thanks for reading! _

_I'll go over this and correct the mistakes later. So ignore any grammatical errors or sentences that might not make sense. Enjoy!  
_

**Disclaimer **-_ I don't own Hans Landa or any of the characters from Inglourious Basterds. They belong to Quentin Tarantino. _

* * *

It was one of those rare occasions in which my father and I found ourselves alone.

After so many years of being around my mother constantly, and having to stomach what father called 'her constant spewing of drivel', I came to prize these moments as little gems. Pockets of memories that I would never take for granted as I looked forward to each segment of time which I could spend with only him. Today was one of them and I could not have been happier.

The only reason we were not accompanied by my mother was, of course, because the venue in which our outing would take place was not at all to her liking – my new flower shop. It was this reason that deterred her visit with us and, more importantly, that I simply refused to go with her to France to buy my wedding dress. Not only did a trip to France violate my planning schedule for the wedding, as I had every detail mapped out on a list which I would follow as religiously and meticulously as a monk, but French designs were made for those slender, tall and petite figures and did not appeal to me in any way.

This angered her greatly, much to my dismay, but not really much to my surprise. She'd been so uncharacteristically sane and happy in the past few days following the announcement of my engagement to Hans that I was sorry to see her cheerfulness finally dissipate. But it was just the way the circle of her behavior worked – first she was cheerful and easy to get along with, then something would upset her. And so on…and so on..

My mother's changeable moods were like the tide – they came in and fell away with each rising and falling of the sun.

Needless to say, I was thoroughly ignored for the duration of the morning as my mother flipped through a wedding periodical at _German _designers for my dress, against my protestations that we would look together. She did it to spite me, I'm sure, her small rebellion against my authority over the situation. My father seemed rather content in seeing that my mother, for once, did not get her way and rather rejoiced in seeing her mope on the settee with such a thin rag in her lap.

I sat by the window, waiting for our taxi to arrive.

"Well, my darling, don't you go and enjoy yourself too much now." My father chuckled as he pulled on a weatherworn cap over his greased blonde hair. "And quit reading those rags – they'll rot your brain straight out of your head!"

"Oh, you good for nothing _arschloch, _how can youspeak to me in such a way!You have no right to tell me what to do and I will certainly do as I please!" My mother fired back, tearing adamantly through the pages. "You and your terrible daughter can do as you please, I'm sure, so I should be given the same treatment as the lot of you! Besides, she listens to you, no matter how good my advice may be and how superior it is to yours! She's a stupid girl and you are a stupid man…you deserve each other, in my good opinion!"

"_Mama_…" I beseeched, turning away from the harsh glare of the windowpanes. I crossed the length of the room and dropped to my knees once I reached her, taking her hand as to soothe her wounded feelings. It all came down to her view of the situation, really. Her fear that I preferred my father over her was the most prominent in the front of her mind, while in the back it was the suspicion that I undermined her authority over me.

Neither would do. I loved my mother greatly, no matter how irritating she could become.  
Besides, I was always a source of irritation for both her and my father, so I was no different from her.

Like mother like daughter.

She tore her hand out of my grip. "Did you not hear me Hanne? I do not want to speak to you ever again! I should say that you did not hear, at least when it comes to me! It's your father you listen to, not me at all! Why he should have your love and I should not confuses me, but I will not be used by you any longer! "

"Oh, _mama, _you and I both know that is not true! I listen to you all the time and I should hope that you do not think that I love father more than I love you," I replied and rested my head on her knee. "I love you so very much and would never think to undermine your authority, nor your social insight. It is because of you, really, that I can gladly call myself the future Frau Landa. And to accuse me of being ungrateful is hurtful to say the least!"

For a moment, the room was silent. I raised my head from her knee and looked up into her face, emotions flitting through her transparent air of composure like ghosts through the night. At first, arrogance seemed to be winning the battle for dominance, but slowly, and surely, placation began to creep its way into the mix.

Eventually, it won over, a rather violent transition; my mother never quite had a good poker face.

"Oh, all right," she said, sighing as she closed her periodical and put it aside. The white flag had been raised. "You've won me over, you snake charmer you! But if you are late for when Anneliese comes later this afternoon, you and I are quite done for! I will never speak to you again and will not be sorry to ignore you completely for the rest of your life, after you are married of course."

Anneliese's train had been delayed and would not arrive until at least three in the afternoon. We'd received the phone call early this morning, at breakfast, and mother was quite put out by the ill-favored news. She'd never been a morning person, being quite the 'petulant hag' in the early hours, as my father deemed her, and receiving such a report did not sit well with her at all.

Perhaps she was only fashioned for afternoon parties and nocturnal soirees.

She stood up quickly. "Now! You must be off, the both of you. Anneliese arrives with the three o' clock train and it is already eleven thirty! Off, off!"

My father began to grumble as he stalked off in the general direction of the foyer. I was about to follow him when I was promptly yanked back by the collar of my dress.

"Now wait just a minute, Hanne. I need to have a word with you, my darling girl," she said, proceeding to use that age-old trick of pinching my cheeks to revive a rosy blush into the pale skin there. It was always a painful cheat and I'd always prefer to be pale and unsightly then resort to masochism.

"About the engagement…" She began as she straightened a wrinkle out of my overcoat. "You mustn't speak a world of it to anyone, do you hear? Don't even mention it in front of the driver! I'm sure Hans will want to announce it at the party this evening, at BrigadeführerMendler's party you know, so don't you go and reveal it to the world! You know well enough how fast rumors can travel."

"_Mama," _I scoffed, pushing her hands gently away from my overcoat. "Do not take me for a simpleton. I will not breathe a word…"

_I do not wish to either. I am simply sick of this wedding business for the time being and will be glad to be rid of it for an hour or two._

I dared not speak my mind when she was in such a fragile state of mind, our relationship only temporarily repaired. The usual reaction I could expect from her, if I let any note of sarcasm slip into my voice, would be catastrophic to say the least.

Instead, I plastered on my best attempt at a sycophantic grin and went along with whatever she said. Even if it was completely unnecessary.

"Well, I shouldn't keep you from your _beloved_ shop, should I?" I could almost picture her nose hoisted up in the air, in that snobbish sort of disapproving way. She breathed in sharply through her nose. "Yes, that damned shop of yours that will be the death of your reputation. I can almost hear it now! _That Hanne Kessler girl? Working? Whatever for?"_

To the rich, working was a luxury that should have been reserved for the men alone. Women were like adornments, only to be seen and admired but not heard (especially in Herr Zedler's opinion, who was a ghastly man). We were worn on the arms of society and polished to a gold-wrought sheen, wearing the finest jewelry that her husband could buy and a dress that accentuated every reason for his marrying her, every self-explanitory curve.

I was sure Hans would not treat me with such disrespect as to treat me like some trophy wife. He had already bought me the shop himself and did not seem at all put out by the idea of me working.

Perhaps it surprised him.

Perhaps it was even a pleasant surprise, a refreshing revelation to see a woman actually _want _to establish herself in the working world and not simply live for the parties and the inane female chatter and the champagne (though, it was quite good).

My mother, however, did not see my side of the story. Only hers.

"They're quite right, you know!" She exclaimed, her voice shrill again. "A woman should know her place in the world and your father would agree with me! A woman should submit to her husband and his wishes and that is all…"

A horn honked impatiently outside. "Speaking of fathers, I must be off. He's waiting for me."

I reached for her and kissed her cheek. "Goodbye, _mama."_

She waved me off, turning back to the window. "Yes, yes, now leave. Go and worship your precious shop and leave me to wallow in mourning over your _ruined_ reputation!"

"You're not at all dressed for such a lamentable occasion," I quipped. She looked down at her pale pink dress and huffed quite loudly as I hurried toward the door, keeping a firm hand over my hat to keep it from flying straight off my head in the midst of such a rush. The taxi horn protested my tardiness once again before I reached the door, sliding in with haste as the driver began to pull away from the walks.

I spotted something in my peripheral vision as I moved to shut the door behind me. "Wait!" I called and the driver's widened eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. I reached out to pluck a dandelion from between a seam in the sidewalk. I exhaled, relieved to settle down into the backseat, and breathlessly said to the driver, "drive on, please!"

"You and your flowers, Hanne," my father chuckled, watching as I gently touched the feather-light petals. "I do wonder from what, or where, you derive this infatuation."

"Simply by looking around, father," I replied, gingerly setting the dandelion in my lap with trembling fingers. "There's so much of nature's beauty all around us, even in the city, that it's hard to ignore. Now, where is the shop? I'm dying to see it!"

"Don't dig your grave just yet, my dear, we're almost there. Just another block or so, I think…"He trailed off for a moment as we turned a corner, entering a commercial district. "Ah, yes. Just down this street here. It's quite a lovely place, I'll at least allow the snake charmer _that_ compliment."

I watched him for a moment, held under scrutiny every motionless curve and static line in his face as to find the root of his problem with Hans. It just didn't seem natural to me, that Hans had won everyone over but my father, who was usually impressed with any man, young or old, who conformed to the Nazi ideology.

Hans, it seemed, was not worthy of the honor of winning my father's appreciation.

"Why is it that you do not like Hans?" I asked. "There must be something that makes you hate him so, a certain attribute perhaps? I do not understand it…for once both mother and I, we agree on the same man and you can't find one thing to commend him on."

He breathed in slowly through his nose, his thin lips stretched into a grim, hard line. For a moment, he did not answer, until his eyes swept over me and rested on my face. "I don't want to lose you, Hanne. You're all I've got left, really…"

"That's nonsense, father…you've got _mama _and your job as Standartenfuhrer and, of course, you've got all these wonderful parties to attend and astonish everyone with your unpopular opinion," I laughed, hoping to lift the heaviness that had settled over our conversation with a spark of levity. It seemed to fail, which I had expected, given his current state.

"You don't understand, Hanne," he replied tersely. "I will explain it to you someday, but not now. It's not safe…not during this era in which every word is taken into consideration and analyzed down to the very origin of its meaning. It's a dangerous world in which we live, Hanne. You will do good to follow its rules, its new concepts, in order to survive the great change."

Instead, I put my hand on his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "What are you talking about?" My eyes narrowed.

When he did not answer, I moved to gently kiss his coarse cheek. The stubble tickled my nose, a familiar memory that I always held dear from the time of my childhood.

"Whatever fears you have in regards to my marrying Hans, you may as well forget them. You will never lose me," I assured him with a smile. "I can promise you _at least_ that."

He glanced at me from the corner of his eyes, snorting a little at my quixotic notions. "Yes, that is what you think now, my dear. But when the time comes, I will probably regret all of this…" He trailed off again, chasing some waking dream of his that begged a contemplative manner. Then, just as the cab began to weave out of traffic, he turned toward my side of the car. "Ah, here we are."

It took all the strength that was in me to keep from leaping out of that car and, contrary to the fact that my mother's view of me was one of a sort of savage who cared nothing for her reputation, I wanted to maintain a sense of decorum.

My father paid the man, a minute which felt like the span of forever in light of my restless (it was certainly murder on the nerves) anticipation, and followed me in a moment as the cab drove off, integrating back into the bustle on the streets. He looked up with a sigh at the building, a newer structure comprised entirely of multihued brick, and gestured toward the place with a sort of weary grandeur.

"After you, dear girl." He said. I nearly took off like an overly exuberant colt, but quickly smothered my enthusiastic tendencies and buried them in a shallow grave, deep in the back of my head. Instead, I simply nodded and walked, calmly, toward the door, opening it with a sort of shuddering breath.

Inside the place was more of an impressive sight to behold, even more so than the exterior, its first impression. The panels were, also, made of the same mottled brick that fashioned the outer partitions of the building itself. A large, ornate chandelier served as the main light fixture for the room and a long mahogany desk, which would serve as the register, was placed near the back of the place, occupying the left corner of the back wall. I closed my eyes, picturing the decorations – old world woods and Monet on the walls to give a dreamy sort of atmosphere, with flowers and plants of _all kinds _lining the walls. Little weave baskets of seeds would be situated near the register and stacks of books would be placed in the front window, to lure in potential romantics searching for the perfect gift for their sweetheart and cynics hoping to lift the spirits of their dormant apartments with a fragment of life to place on their windowsill. Anyone ,from the young schoolboy hoping to impress a pretty girl to the old war veteran putting flowers on his beloved wife's grave could come in and find solace in my shop.

I would turn no one away.

Not even the infamous Jews.

"So." My father interrupted my reverie, his voice reverberating off the thick emptiness that hung in the air like an impenetrable fog. "How do you like it? It's a nice sort of place, _ja_?"

"Father, it's perfect," I replied, crossing the floorboards (which looked like oak by their color) to investigate the desk. My hand, the only part of me that could not contain the excitement which coursed through me with unparalleled vibrancy, reached out to touch the lustrous wood. "Can you see it now? I'll be an independent, working woman of Germany!"

"Ah, yes, you will be able to escape your mother more often than I will," he joked. "But, first you must think of a name? What will it be, do you think?"

"Oh, I've already got a name. In fact, I picked the name out long ago, when I dreamed of this place," I replied, flourishing my arms to accentuate the moment of splendor. "I shall call it Eden! A place of refuge for a person such as me and a last minute savior for the typical husband who has forgotten St. Valentine's. Do you think it is befitting, father?"

"Yes, yes, it suits its purpose well," he replied, sweeping his gaze over the shop with what seemed a critical eye. "Nothing seems to be out of place. The fixtures have just been installed and you can start moving the furniture in the next few days, after they set up the greenhouse upstairs."

I'd hardly noticed, in my excitement, the backdoor. Behind which, I assumed, were the stairs.

And those stairs led up to my beloved greenhouse.

"Ah…" I peered at it, suddenly interested in what lay behind its deceptively dull-colored frame. "Can I see it? Upstairs?"

"No, it's not yet finished," he replied, a little jarringly in his severity. "I want at least one part of this little gift of mine to be a surprise. Now, let's see to that tea I promised you…there's a café down the street. Come now, darling…it does no use, staring at the door. You'll have to wait."

Despite my frustration at having to wait (I'd been waiting a long time, really), I recognized the fact that three more days would not hurt me anymore than three years had. I obediently followed my father out of the shop, where we forwent a cab and commenced the short trek down the busy streets of Berlin toward the café he'd mentioned.

Glad to finally have just a moment to ourselves.

* * *

I'd like to think I took after my Aunt Anneliese, at least in looks if I could not have the honor of inheriting her fair, not to mention enviable, temperament.

Of course, Anneliese was much older than me and, according to my father, it took a long time for her to adhere to the type of creature of sensibility and propriety that she is now. At first, she was a rebellious sort of girl that went off and married the first poor soldier she managed to fall in love with, just to spite her proud, blue-blood father – an act of defiance that result in disownment and, it was also very likely, a good hide-tanning by my mother.

She was a frightful sight to behold with my father's belt and that wild look in her eyes.

Even so, after her husband died fighting in the first World War, it became clear that Anneliese was not the sort of woman that loved twice in a lifetime. Once was enough for her, according to those around her. She did not have enough room in her heart for another man to take up what little space there was. Her life, they said, revolved too much around the existence of logic, subsisting on reason in a way that separated her from the rest of her sex.

The rumors made her out to be some kind of heartless wench.

But I always saw it as a romantic sort of gesture, not a lack of emotional capability or stamina at all – she held onto his memory for him and did not let go, at least for the short while in which he awaited her in the afterlife.

Patiently waiting in that sort of ethereal existence that awaited us when we passed on.

Three hours after returning home from our private excursion, I found myself sitting in the striped settee in our living room. It was a little too cold, with the afternoon graying a little beneath a veil of promising storm clouds, but the hearth was beginning to liven behind me and emanate a rich, omnipresent heat into the chilled atmosphere. I sighed and leaned back in my seat, folding my hands over my knee as I looked up into the ceiling, searching for little designs in the plaster while listening to the metallic clangs of pots and pans in the kitchen.

Mother was making afternoon tea before my father and Anneliese arrived; the clock on the mantle behind me, when I gave it a transient glance, read three o' clock. If all had gone well and the schedule had not fallen behind, her train had already arrived.

It was only a matter of time before she walked through that front door, instantaneously filling the apartment with tranquil sort of ambience that could not be ignored.

Not even by my mother.

Quick footsteps echoed down the narrow hall for only a moment. I stood up, releasing my hand from its clasp around my knee, just in time for said mother to walk in. She was balancing a tray – tea kettle, a bowl of sugar cubes and a serving dish of crème all arranged in their usual places.

"_Mama." _I outstretched my hands, moving to reach for the tray. "Let me help you with that, _ja? _It looks a little heavy for you…"

She duly noted my rash movements and tore it away from my grasp, nearly upsetting the ensemble. My heart leapt at such a terrible thought; her carpets, which she always kept so clean, would be ruined…and she would be perfectly undone by losing their unaffected appearance.

Fortunately for both me and her, the contents of the tray only slid a little, disturbed by the lurching pace.

"Ah, ah, Hanne!" She clicked her tongue at me and passed me by, setting the tea set on the coffee table and wiping her hands on her apron. "I am not an old woman yet and I will not let you coddle me like one! Yes, you are an artful one you are, but you will not undermine my authority just yet! I have a sense of pride to withhold and you will not steal that from me! No, not at all."

And all I'd meant to do was help her set the table for the afternoon discussion.

I allowed a small smile and moved toward the window so she would not see it, listening to the background clatter of spoons and her quiet humming that soothed the unsettled air like an undercurrent.

"Do you see them Hanne?" She asked, coming up suddenly behind me to peer into the crowd for any vaguely familiar faces. It would be hard to miss any signs of Anneliese and my father…they were often mistaken a pair of twins, the price for looking so much alike.

"Not yet," I replied. Only a second had passed, or at least it only felt like a second, before she gasped and jabbed her finger against the spotless pane.

"Are you blind as a bat dear girl? There they are, right there. Perhaps it is from you reading too much…I never did like all those books your Anneliese sent you! Not good for a girl's mindset, I always said. They put too many ideas in one's head that are not necessary for the sort of life we live! Not to mention, that small print is _murder _on the eyes!"

"Yes, well, _mama, _if father had not joined the SS, we would not be living like this at all,_" _I shot back. "I was used to living a certain way before. It is not that I am ungrateful for the luxuries you and father have provided for me, especially in such an era as this one, but I have always loved to read. You know this and you used to encourage my education, saying that men liked smart women."

"That was before Hitler became chancellor, Hanne! You must follow the times, not stick yourself so permanently in the past. We were paupers before, you remember! Only the women who brag their intelligence marry in the lower class. But we, darling…we are rich now!"

She giggled to herself at the thought, thoroughly enjoying the sound of such a declaration coming out of _her _mouth. The wife of a former pauper, now living a life filled to the brim with elegance and vanity.

"And anyway, rich men don't want smart wives," she said. "They want _lovely_, quiet and _submissive_ brides, not these girls that flaunt their aptitude like it's some sort of…_gift_ from God! I daresay, you were lucky to catch such a man as Hans, the way you carry on about your damned flowers! I hardly know how the poor fellow will put up with you, I can only imagine!"

The door opened at last and I was spared the tirade.

I rushed forth upon hearing the air from the outside world sweep into the apartment, pervading our refuge like some wearied visitor. Two pairs of feet shuffled their way through the frame, one patiently awaiting the other to step completely inside before following after. I felt very much akin to a child again, bounding in the foyer with reckless abandon, which my mother promptly scolded me for (she had begun to scold me for the smallest things lately, like taking too much to eat at dinner and even reading by the window in the afternoons).

"Anneliese!" I threw my arms around her and her mouth gave way to a small, indefinable sound of surprise. Nonetheless, she returned my embrace as best she could with her full hands by pressing her cheek against mine and placing a small kiss there.

"Oh, how's my darling Hanne? Step back, dearest, so I can get a good look at the newly engaged woman here!" I did as I was told and showed her the ring; her eyes popped when she saw the size of the diamond. "Oh goodness…is this a rich fella you're marrying?"

"I suppose so," I replied, taking in the symbol of betrothal with a small incline of my head, digging into its facets to find some new face of beauty that perhaps I'd not seen before in my endless hours of gazing at it. "He's just been promoted to Unterscharführer, after only a month and a half of working for the SS. He's a very intelligent man…I'm quite the lucky girl for catching him!"

"And romantic too, I hope?" She asked.

"Yes, very romantic," I replied. "He sent me a red tulip before he officially proposed to me! A letter, too. And then, oh Anneliese…he gave me my favorite flower! And since Casablanca lilies are from a more tropical climate, coming from the Orient…"

"Oh, for God's sake, is that girl going off about those damned flowers again?!" My mother came barging into the conversation, her brow furrowed so low into her sockets that the shadows around her eyes seemed to darken altogether. The wild spark in her eye had returned, making her look absolutely feral.

"Hannelore, my dear friend…don't be too put off by it." Anneliese intervened. "It's good that she has an outlet…I seem to recall a young girl who, in her prime, all she cared about was her next beau? Besides, Hanne's knowledge of flowers is rather fascinating. Don't you have a shop opening soon?"

"Don't you instigate, Anneliese! I've told her…now that she's getting married I will have none of that silly little girl stuff she talks about!" My mother turned swiftly on her heel, redirecting our attention to the living room. "Now, why don't we all sit down for tea?"

"God damn it, Anneliese! Would you hurry along?" My father, of course, had to add in his two cents, making the entry hall a madhouse with all the commotion stirring the air. "These bags are heavy! You sill women can chat later, when my arms _aren't_ about ready to fall off."

"As pleasant as always, aren't we Wilhelm? Besides, you're a Standartenführer…if you can handle all those impressionable young men all day, you can certainly handle a few old bags!" She jested lightly, handing off her bags to my father with a small thank you.

He only grunted in response, not looking too happy about becoming his sister's temporary bagman while she indulged her desire to hear of my fiancée….

I could almost hear the grumbling under his breath as he walked toward the spare bedroom.

_An SS ranking officer like me, treated like some family Negro! I should have them all whipped for such insubordination, but unluckily for me they're not enlisted, and neither can they be because they're all damned silly women…_

_Perhaps Hanne has a bit of sense, but she's still a silly girl, getting all swoony over such a silly, insignificant thing as getting married. And to that snake charmer, too! That Hans Landa, who is barely a year younger than I am! _

_It's a terrible thing when you must see your daughter married off to some old geezer…I blame Hannelore, the dirty old hag…_

"Hanne! Hanne, come along now!" My mother's piercing voice trickled in from the living room, where I was sure poor Anneliese's ears were taking in all of its ferocious, deafening glory. "We have things to discuss! Like your invitations, for example?"

I sighed; the wedding had become her favorite topic, a little hypocritical, really, in light of her tabooing any mentioning of flowers when it came to me. "Coming, _mama." _

The heat that had been quite weak before had covered the entire room in a thick blanket of warmth in our short absence. I felt as if I were walking through a summer day and not our living room at all as I crossed the carpets and reached the settee, where Anneliese was sitting. I settled into the vacant seat next to her, which my mother did not seem to like…if there were guests in the house and I chose to show them a little more attention than I did to her, she became very jealous.

But when it was only her and me, I could sit wherever I pleased…as long as I lent an available ear for her to pour all of her complaints and exaltations into.

Anneliese, the blessedly astute woman that she was, saw it fit to impose a distraction.

"So, Hanne," she began as she selected a tea cup from the tray. "Have you and Hans set a date for the ceremony?"

"Well, I-"

"Of course she hasn't! She hasn't paid a speck of attention to planning this damned wedding of hers and she's been engaged for at least a week now!" My mother huffed, practically throwing the sugar cubes into her cup. "I can hardly believe this girl at times, Anneliese. You must tell her that if she wants a proper ceremony, she _must _plan it now! Autumn weddings are not in style this season…it is **all **about the summer nuptials! So Frau Ackerman has told me…in her own special way of course."

Anneliese stirred calmly as she heaved a great, pensive sigh. "Well, Hannelore, in this case I will have to side with Hanne, though I do not usually like to take sides in such delicate situations as these most certainly are…"She chuckled a little, unfazed by mother's ostentatious sulking. "If Hanne wants to wait until winter to say her vows, then there is nothing we can do about it. This is all up to her, from setting the date to what dress she will wear. By the way, Hanne…" She looked to me for a moment. "I do hope you will select a dress while I'm here…I'd simply love to help. I know I am not exactly fashionable like your mother here, but I certainly can try to be helpful."

As per usual, nothing of what Anneliese had said was processed. It had been as if she'd never spoken at all, the way my mother ignored her. But that was normal…no one was in the least astonished by her behavior.

"And that's another thing!" She cried, placing the cup in her lap. "You must get through to her and tell her that you must always draw up the guest list first! She will not listen to me, the stubborn, stupid girl…I tell her these things and it simply does not stick! But no, she wants to pick her beloved _flowers _first. I swear on my life, if I ever see a damned flower again in the whole of my existence I will not be at all kind to it! In fact, I will throw it on the ground and _stomp_ on it!"

"Mother, it's my wedding and I will do what I want with it. No amount of intimidation will convince me otherwise." I replied. She snorted and sipped at her tea, trying to ignore her aggressive lust to wring my neck in front of the guest. Propriety was probably the only concept that stayed her hand and, for a moment, I was grateful for her obsession with social conduct.

"I already have the flowers all picked out, both for my bouquet and for the general decoration at the reception, which, I assure you…" I emphasized my point with a pointed glance at my mother, who was too busy stirring her tea in a heated sort of manner to receive it. "I assure you, the reception will be small. At least my invitation list will be short. I am not sure about Hans…he said he'd mail his choices to me while he's in Munich, investigating a case of sorts."

Anneliese looked momentarily confused. "I thought you said your fiancée works for the SS?"

"He does," I replied. "He is a very skilled detective, from what I hear. I have not seen him work as of yet, but I'm sure I will once we move in together. The SS, they send him all over Germany to find runaway POW's, the important ones at least. He's found quite a number so far…one of the most important was a radical communist who was stirring up trouble in Bulgaria. He escaped about a month ago from German custody and Hans caught him near Freiberg, next to the Swiss border."

"Well, that _is _impressive!" She declared, replacing her empty china on the tray. "What a husband he will be…"

"A suspicious one, I'm sure," I quipped, permitting her a small chuckle.

Anneliese smiled in return. "I'm sure he is an amiable young man…"

I averted my eyes to my hands; She, I knew, would become doubtful of the circumstances, knowing how attuned she was to the underlying truth of unconventional relationships. "He is not young," I admitted. "Hans is at least forty-eight, give or take three years. I have not yet asked him, as I considered it rude while we were more or less courting. But I mean to…just after we are married."

"_Forty-eight_?" Anneliese nearly choked on her own tongue as it struggled to form such abominable words. "Hanne, this _is _your idea, marrying this man?"

"Of course it is!" I retorted, a little defensively, but it _was _my dear Hans she was talking about in that critical sort of way. "I would not marry anyone if it did not suit me. Besides, I like him very, very much and am not at all convinced that I will not be happy with him. In fact, I am sure I _will _be happy with him. He's a charming, amiable and wonderful man and I don't care about our age difference, though I did in the beginning. I will be very _proud_ to bear his name."

She looked to my mother, who had all but quieted as her sour mood only seemed to suffer throughout the course of the conversation. "Hannelore, I take it this isn't one of your _prospects _that happened to catch Hanne's eye, _ja?"_

"So what if he was?" My mother squawked in objection at such an incriminating claim. "It makes no difference whether I singled him out or not! Hanne approves of him and thinks highly of the man, so I can't see why it would affect her decision even if I had picked him out of the gutters! Besides, Wilhelm knew him from headquarters, when Hans submitted his application! That was in the early spring, mind you, and he'd almost forgotten, the old fool! But Hans is a man one could never, ever forget…not for long!"

"Well, as long as there's no strange business going on here, I suppose I approve, though I do say he's almost as old as your father!" Anneliese seemed to be reprimanding me, but I suspected she was really directing her warning to my mother, who was responsible for her usual dabbling in matchmaking. "Two years off, dear Hanne, and he would be the same age. I hope that does not grow to be a problem in the future…"

"Oh, it won't! I assure you, Anneliese, that it _**will not**_! Hanne will remain loyal to Hans and submissive to him in every way, no thoughts of divorce to _**ever**_cross her mind. Isn't that right dear?" My mother smiled at me through clenched teeth and I couldn't help but feel as if she were threatening me.

But divorce was the furthest thing from my mind. I wasn't even a newlywed as of yet, hardly a fiancée, really, as our engagement was still so new. It would be announced that very evening, at the Brigadeführer Mendler's gathering.

"Besides, dear Anneliese," she continued, looking very, very serious as she spoke. "It really all comes down to the fact that Hans is good, no _necessary _for the furthering of Hanne's reputation! To marry such an ambitious and, of course, very good looking and charming man as Hans Landa is to become the epitome of social elegance and envy, which is exactly what Hanne needs! She is much too spoiled…I have ruined her by raising her on such tedious little things as books and dolls, but I thought it would be good for her at the time. But I will say, it is Hanne's fault for getting too comfortable with that lifestyle! No one should _ever _just simply settle into something like that! No, one must be ready for change."

"Hannelore, _please_," Anneliese retorted. "Be reasonable my dear friend…Hanne was only a child. Children do not adapt to change as you and I do. You cannot surely blame anything on her, as reading and having even a small amount of intelligence to boast is a good thing to have, especially in a woman. Now I know some men do not prefer smart wives, but I do say that a lot of them _do. _And if Hans is even half the brilliant fellow you and Hanne have said he is, then he will enjoy Hanne's interests, if not just for her pursuit of them."

"Oh, what do _you_ know of society?" My mother sneered. "You do not have to suffer the wrath of the rich folk as we do! We must conform to their every rule or all would be lost. But you, you are just a librarian, sending my daughter books that she doesn't need and that will rot her brain with scientific nonsense!"

"I do not know of society because I choose not to. The simple life is all that I need, really," Anneliese replied placidly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "And if society is so cruel to you, Hannelore, why don't you simply remove yourself from it? It would be a lot easier than to suffer the consequences of such an easy way of life."

The response she earned was certainly one of bemusement. "Remove myself from society?! I've never heard of a more stupid idea in my life! Not when Hanne is ready to marry into it and Wilhelm is so invested in his work!"

"And so Hanne can still marry and Wilhelm can still work," Anneliese gently explained. "All you have to do is quit the parties and the gossip and you will be free of them. Just because you have money and a good reputation, Hannelore, does not mean you are required to waste both on the rich."

The look on mother's face suggested she'd rather cut off both her thumbs than do any such thing. "Well, that surely _will not_ happen. I may complain about the bad things that come with such a new standard of living as we have, but that does not mean I would so readily throw it away. The good outweighs the bad! Really, Anneliese…I thought you were supposed to be the sensible one in the family!"

Anneliese and I turned to one another and shared a secretive, muted laugh.

If only mother had known that she'd only been teasing her, perhaps the conversation would have turned out altogether different.

* * *

The household was all in uproar.

I sat at my vanity, listening to the raised voices from the other room. Mostly it was mother and father's shouting that snaked through the halls and spilled into my safe haven, while Anneliese remained the only subdued influence of reason throughout the whole ordeal.

The ordeal being, of course, that my mother had discovered that her husband had not extended the invitation to her.

"I'm an SS officer's wife, for God's sake, Wilhelm!" Her words cut through my closed door. "I have every right to go, more so than Hanne does! She is not even an officer's wife yet! You are a good for nothing _arschloch, _you mean bastard, and I will not forgive you for this, not for as long as I live."

"Oh, all you ever care for is parties! There's more to life than showing off, Hannelore!" He shot back. "Besides, I don't want you embarrassing me in front of my superiors. And neither do I want you humiliating Hanne with your constant barrage of marriage and gossip!"

"You're a black-hearted fiend and I will _never forgive you!" _I could hear the tears filter through her words.

His tone turned caustic. "Good riddance!" He said. "Anneliese, go and make her some tea. Calm her down before the old hag swoons or something _infinitely worse._"

"Wilhelm, really…" I heard Anneliese reply over mother's maudlin sobs. "Don't say such things in front of her. Can't you see she is upset? You're only aggravating the situation."

"Oh, for God's sake, woman. Don't coddle her, she's a grown woman! She needs to learn that the world, no matter how small it may seem, does not revolve around her." His footsteps began to rattle the paintings on the walls. "Hanne! If you're not out here in five minutes, I don't care how old you are or how soon you will be the snake charmer's wife – _so help me God, I will tan your hide until it turns black and blue_!"

I forwent my usual ritual – a look at each pale cheek in the mirror and a sigh – and snatched my purse from the corner of the dressing table, nearly upsetting a bottle of perfume in my heated rush. It was rather hard, dashing across the length of the room in a long skirt that hindered one's ability to walk, let alone run, but I managed to do so without falling over myself too much.

An injury in the family would probably only cause more unneeded strife; I was careful to watch every step, even as I reached the hallway, where at least the Persian carpets would cushion my fall.

"Hanne!" My father appeared at the end of the hall, tall and formidable in his dark gray dress uniform. "Get your ass to the car. We're leaving. _Now."_

I said nothing in return. What does one say to such an ominous command? I had at least the right amount of sense not to try and refute it, but instead simply quickened my easy pace through the front door, trying to ignore my mother's heartrending sobs coming in from the living room.

The picture in my head, of the scene that was currently taking place on the striped pink-and-white settee, was as clear as the night sky in early spring – no clouds of faulty memory to conceal the backdrop, nor any promise of rain to drown out the sound of her weeping. Anneliese was sitting bunched in the corner like a comfort blanket, hushing her softly and patting her shoulder in that usual way of hers.

My father, however, was not moved by her performance. He never was.

A displeased grunt rumbled in his throat as he slid in beside me and he took only a moment to bark at the driver to carry on. He then turned to me, his pulsing temple made harsh by the yellow streetlamps outside our windows, and said, "I swear on my life, Hanne. That woman will be the _death _of me."

No matter how much I didn't want to, I couldn't help but agree with him.

* * *

For the second time that season, we found ourselves driving through Potsdam. The only difference that separated this situation from the one before was that the night had long since pulled its long, dark veil over the sleepy afternoon, tucking the sun beneath the horizon while the moon took her place as monarch of the nocturnal sky.

Another was that we had passed Herr Ackerman's estate ten minutes before, driving deeper into the more stately mansions of the countryside.

And my mother was not there to add her certain aura of levity to the atmosphere. There was a tension in the air that begged a sense of concern and the disgruntlement of a man who found himself in the wrong. He looked out at the opulent properties, lined with trees and stone walks and flowers of all kinds (I would have been so very happy to take the sight of them all in, but it was much too dark to see much of anything besides the glow emanating from inside the windows).

But I doubted very much if he actually saw them.

He seemed to remember himself, where he was going and what he was doing in that car in the first place, and spoke up as we encountered a procession of stately automobiles, most of them much finer than our own."The next driveway," he directed the driver, a little gruffly, but that was his way.

At least the traffic leading through the gates was not as bad as most. But this only proved the exclusivity of the party even more, a bit of a nerve-bender if one really took the time to think of it. SS officers of all kinds would be there, from the low ranking favorites to the high positioned detested who were only there because of their money and influence. Hans had mentioned the night of our engagement, before he left for a short errand in the nearby city of Wittenberge for the duration of three days, that even a large number of the Gestapo would be there too.

I'd never met an officer of the Gestapo before.  
All the more reason to justify my apprehension.

Before long, the car pulled up to the front of the house and left us at the stairs, proceeding to drive off with a nonchalant wave of my father's hand.

"You go and find your fiancé," he commented evenly, while we climbed the flight of steps that led up to the large, ornate pair of doors. "If you should ever need me, I will be quite close by."

For only a moment, when we reached the inside of the enormous foyer, I looked away from my father to search the span of the room, and the one beyond its vague borders, for Hans. The crowd of people was small, but the sea of uniforms, SS gray and the deep Gestapo black merging to create one intimidating swirl of dark color, was enough to send me reeling into a deep sense of unease. But all of the men seemed unfamiliar, all faces that held no reflection of acquaintance for me and not a one, when they turned to look at me, feeling my eyes on them, seemed to recognize me either. Hans seemed nowhere to be found.

In a fit of panic, I looked beside me for help. But my father was not there either.

My panic only seemed to heighten.

"Darling, are you quite all right?" A voice murmured into my ear.

I whirled around, finding Hans standing there, looking amused in the most pleasant sort of way. "Oh, Hans…it's only you."

His lip twitched a little. "Were you perhaps expecting someone else? I would simply _hate _being an intruder in my own fiance's presence," he chuckled at the idea, but an underlying note of malice, almost like teasing but much too dark, sashayed through his laughter. "Wouldn't you agree, Hanne?"

"Well, I-"

He cut me off, sparing me his own cruel inquiry. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, my dear. I am only teasing. What is a little jest between lovers, hmm?"

_Lovers. _Such a strong word that usually entailed consummation and was considered quite scandalous outside of marriage. And the way he said it, whispering it into my ear like some well-guarded secret that only he and I would bear, coaxed the butterflies out of the deepest places in my stomach. Their wings fluttered against my stomach, sending shivers up and down my spine. The tremors only seemed to intensify as he pressed his lips against my hand, letting them fall gently down the contoured knolls of my knuckles, the flatlands of my wrist. His mouth felt like satin, its dexterity apparent even in the midst of such a simple gesture as a kiss on the hand, and was certainly just as luxurious to the touch.

I couldn't help but recall the first time he brushed it against my lips in the foyer of my apartment.

It almost swept me into my mind altogether, an escape route out of a nerve-wracking situation.

"Come now, my girl, we have so many people to meet!" Hans cried in delight, taking my arm into the crook of his. "I simply must show you off to all of my superiors."

"For what purpose?" I teased. "To make them jealous?"

"Jealous of me? Why, I'd assume they've always been a little envious of my skills as a detective and my charm since they first became acquainted with me, so it would be nothing new if they were to resent me for having you," he replied, nonchalant as ever. "No, it would be more amusing if they were envious of you! Now, wouldn't you agree?"

He chuckled and led me over to a small cluster of officers in the great room, which was quite large and extravagantly decorated in black old world furniture and paintings of Van Gogh on the walls. Upon taking a closer look at the group, I saw a flash of gaudy black fabric, not at all like the stern color of the Gestapo uniform, and realized that the men were surrounding one of the few women that had attended.

I could only assume it was one of the officer's wives.

In the midst of a hearty bout of laughter, the woman had wildly thrown back her sleek head and let the mirth ring throughout the enormous hall. She caught sight of Hans once she had opened her eyes, outstretching her arms and crying out, _Landa!, _so that the entire group turned to face us. I was unnerved by the abrupt attention, but Hans seemed to only thrive on it.

"Oh, my dear, dear Landa! You old devil you." She raced forward, elegant even in her hastened movements, to kiss Hans on both cheeks. "You're fashionably late as always!"

"_Fashionable_, Frau Mendler?" He clicked his tongue, smiling wolfishly at her in return. "I'm afraid one can only be so fashionable in special issue attire!"

She turned her cat-like eyes on me, their green color accentuated by her stark makeup. "And this pretty little thing must be your fiancé!" Frau Mendler gracefully extended her hand. "Hanne Kessler, I assume? I have heard much about you, mostly from the rumors surrounding this abrupt little engagement of yours, but Landa here as mentioned you a few times, too."

"Only a few?" I prodded gently.

"Dearest, I'm afraid our darling Landa here is a bit of a secretive man," she explained. "He does like his privacy, like most of his _sex_ do, and tends to keep a tight lip about almost everything but what pertains to his work."

"A man's work is his pride and his joy," Hans chuckled and then roughly patted my hand. "Much like his women! There are many pleasures that he may invest in, for life holds such variety to choose from. Why should any one man feel restricted to only one delight? It seems an insult to his primal nature!"

"You are quite right, Landa, quite right indeed! And speaking of men who are slaves to their professions, dear Hellstrom is here! If he were not such a pale fellow, and so strictly dedicated to the Third Reich, I should mistake him for a Negro, the way he slaves over his desk! No room for society in the poor boy's head, I' m afraid. I nearly had to drag him here!"

"I am not at all surprised," Hans replied indifferently. "He has always been a dedicated and ambitious man of country…"

I wouldn't have been at all astonished if Frau Mendler worked herself into a swoon, the way her animated laughter carried throughout the entire hall. And her manners, they were strange. Protective, bordering on territorial, a behavior which she seemed to exercise on all of the present officers.

"Oh, Frau Mendler," he crooned, her voice low and dulcet, like music. "Won't you be so kind as to excuse me and, of course, my Hanne, here? I should like to escort my dear fiancé about the room so that she may be better acquainted with both her surroundings and your guests, as they are such colorful people. It would be such a tragedy, for their personalities not to be thoroughly enjoyed!"

"Why, Landa. Always so polite," she chuckled sensually over the rim of her champagne. "Feel free to roam the entirety of the house! It is open to serve your benefit! You are not at all chained to me…if you were, I would surely be as lucky as your dearest Hanne."

Frau Mendler's entire body seemed to swerve a little as she bent forward to tap the end of my nose with her index finger. She missed and gently touched my cheek instead. It was close enough for her in her state and she did not see any point in pursuing the petty activity further. Not when there was such an abundance of conversation to be had.

By now, I was beginning to settle into the amenable sort of atmosphere that the room exuded in a fine mist of perfume, champagne and a flowery aroma that wafted in and out of my cognizance as Hans led me around the room, introducing me to all the people that came up to him. I noticed it was never the other way around, that he would approach anyone, rather wait for them to heed his presence and either address him or ignore him completely. Mostly the former occurred…in fact, throughout the entire hour and a half that I found myself interacting with the uniforms that had so unnerved me before, not one man, and certainly no women, left him in peace for a moment.

I could admit readily that, though all of them were friendly, it was a little overwhelming.

In one sense, it was easier to see them less as staunch, straight-backed uniforms who took the country by storm with their ideals of superiority and the rebirth of Germany. In the right light, and with enough champagne coursing through some valve in the back of their minds, they were just as wretchedly human as the rest of us. Some were gregarious with loud, booming laughter and eyes that crinkled up like worn fabric when they smiled. Others were stoic, using their countenances sparingly in conveying any sort of emotion that they did not wish to communicate to the world around them. Many were lost in the sea of faces; unlike Hans, who was intelligent beyond the normal reaches of the human capacity, I did not have the skill of remembering each seasoned officer and young, doe-eyed wife of theirs that I met.

The more noteworthy guests that had attended the gathering stuck in my mind quite like words across a page, illustrations that sketched themselves into my memory and could hardly be erased (at least not for the rest of the night). Frau Mendler, of course, was a garrulous woman who made a spectacle of herself in the most fashionable way. It made her quite the favorite amongst the younger officers, all of which were loosened by the champagne that was being repeatedly offered by the tuxedo-wearing hired hands, whom I overhead Frau Mendler saying were the gardeners who happened to appear handsome in a starched white shirt and a slick of hair grease. Out of all the women who attended, the wife of Brigadefuhrer Mendler was the most voraciously sought after in terms of company. The others appeared happy to stand by their husbands and enjoy the discussions, even adding their two cents, three in some cases that entailed a wife with a little more spirit…and were more avidly accepted amongst the older guests.

Another man had been ghosting through my peripheral vision all throughout the parade of introductions. When I mentioned him to Hans the first time I saw the tall, thin figure striding through a break in the wave of people, he glanced transiently at the man I'd pointed out and gently promised he'd save him for last. I did not know his name, but he certainly left an impression on me despite his anonymity.

He was a black specter, donning the Gestapo uniform with such a pride that would have simply burst forth from him if he did not carry himself so rigidly. With his hands fastened behind his back and his thin lips set in a grim line, he looked like the angel of death locked in a human body, weaving in and out of the crowd with little regard for any of the lives he brushed past in the happily chattering crowd. He was handsome, of course, but it was such a cruel sort of beauty that left me more disquieted by his appearance than awed – the same haunting beauty of weeping willows, the trees that no one ever cared for.

Probably because, like this man, they gave them the _shudders_.

But Hans was the majority favorite. The rising star, they called him. Full of radiant promise that would likely outshine them all in the end, some even professing they feared him for the prospect of his stealing their ranks and their titles right out from under them, all the while grinning and enchanting them as he did it. His usual way, they remarked playfully. Hans received all of his compliments with such ease, perhaps even a hint of contempt…

He was all charm and vivacity and I realized, when I stood beside him, listening to his philosophies and debates and stories of his detective work all around Germany, quite the _raconteur_. I should have expected him to be, after realizing early on that he was an exceptional man, but somehow I had missed it. As if it were something so innate to his character that it slipped by my attention unnoticed.

In the midst of all this, my father refused to let go of his restlessness. Even though he was a proud and, sometimes, incorrigible sort of person, he still cared very deeply for my mother and the regard even leached into his sensitivity toward my mother's feelings. The compassion was expertly disguised under the guise of the malcontent, a mask of petulance and disdain and a certain degree of taciturnity that made the gap of communication between him and his wife all the more impossible to breach as she never seemed to breathe without talking. But still, the few times I saw him throughout the event, I saw the roots of agitation crawling through his stolid face – he wanted to get home. To apologize.

He loved her, even if he claimed that she would be the death of him.

About two hours after our parting in the foyer, during a brief interlude between meeting the officers, I found myself privy to and a lover's spat. An older, higher ranking officer had left in a bit of a fuming temper to find his willful wife, who had inevitably wandered off after becoming bored with hearing her husband talk of nothing but other women, especially the lovely Frau Mendler. The man had a knack for hiding his frustration with her, but by the way Hans smiled so pleasantly, so amusedly, I could tell it had not been hidden well enough.

It was not very long after that incident that he approached me.

But at last, I saw him, forcing himself through the crowd in that usual self-important conduct of his, which left a few of the guests looking at him in that way that muttered, '_you asshole, can't you see I'm standing here?'. _They ignored him well enough, though, and he reached us in an unceremonious stumble. It was clear enough that he was drunk, wetting down the lump in his throat to sate the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he had wronged his wife.

Despite the appearance he bore of being a heartless, insensitive old man with nothing but a high regard for himself, he really was a big baby in most ways. Even his regrets were selfish sometimes.

"Hanne, I'm heading off for home," he said, his voice more of an inconsistent rumble than anything. "_We're _going home, actually. C'mon."

He tugged on my arm, but Hans intervened, putting his hand gently on my father's in order to grab his roving attention. My father released his grip as if he had touched something hot or had been bitten by something extremely nasty – the look on his face told all. He did not like being touched, especially by Hans himself.

"If I may, _Herr Standartenführer?" _He inquired, all warm civility and kindness in the face of public drunkenness.

"Oh, what more in the name of heaven could you want from me?" He growled. "You've already taken everything I have, you old, rotten _snake charmer_!"

"Father!" I cried, more out of embarrassment and outrage for Hans than for him.

"You, shut your mouth" he shouted at me, pointing that usual silencing finger my way. "I'm talking to the brute here, _not you._"

It seemed to grow very quiet around us. I could almost feel the eyes of the gossip hounds diverting their attentions away from their champagne, their droll husbands, their young, handsome victims and on the small spectacle my father was making of the three of us. We became the pathetic display of the evening in a matter of mere moments.

How fickle time and fate could be, conspiring against a man who had done nothing to incite them.

I felt my cheeks flush with a surge of mortification and dismay; how could he _do _such a thing? Embarrass me and Hans and, worst of all, himself in front of all these people? A man of country, devoted to Germany, who spurned the tedious affluent solely because of this reason – for pettiness and lack of grace.

He had become one of them. The descent of Adam and Eve, the fall of Rome, the crucifixion of Jesus Christ – every pivotal act of cruelty and injustice was restructured before me in a man I looked up to, feared even, for his expectations as a good, reasonable man of Germany, if not the most irritable one of them all.

All of it was lost in one too many drinks and a regret that could have been righted in a matter of hours.

Stupid, stupid man…I could never forgive him for this.

"Please, _herr,_" Hans smiled genially. "Do not work yourself into such a fluster. It is clear that you are tired and wish to return to your apartment. However, I was only going to suggest that _I _take your daughter home, once we have finished here. She is, after all, my escort and it would be such a lonely event without her by my side."

My father waved his hand, dismissing him. "Do what you like with the whore! I care nothing for her…"

His reputation, stained in the length of one historic evening. I felt like crying, mostly, but flying at him like some provoked banshee, shrieking and beating my fists against him with reckless abandon was more appealing. But that would only ruin him even more, peg him as that lunatic, drunken old man with the drunken _madcap_ of a daughter who could not keep her temper.

He stalked out of the place and the party resumed, as if nothing had happened. But I was sure it would be discussed on the morrow, over tea and strudel, perhaps even as early as breakfast, as many women tended to work themselves into frenzies of joviality over the happenings of a momentous occasion.

Hans did not seem to be undone by my father's antics as I was…in fact, he looked as calm as ever.

A part of me resented him for having such a talent for masking his emotions in the face of histrionics…whereas I could not as easily write off my anger, my humiliation.

After a time, when it appeared that I had met almost everyone (all the important people, anyway, most of whom acted like nothing had happened earlier), Hans guided me into a more sheltered part of the room. He sighed and looked at me when we settled into the backdrop of the party; I could tell it was not to his liking, removing himself from all the levity and public interest, so I considered it a very kind, unselfish gesture, his leading me off to the side like he did so I could take a moment to breathe and escape the prying looks and the whispers that circulated around the room.

I wished, ardently, that I could go home.

"Please, darling, do let me apologize for steeping you so forcefully into the public eye," he murmured into my ear, sweeping an unruly lock of hair behind my ear in an almost possessive gesture. "You look a little flushed and certainly a great deal more overwhelmed. Would you care at all for another glass of champagne? It does have a wonderful sort of calming effect on one's nerves…it is why, perhaps, they call it liquid courage."

He chuckled and the sound was so arresting, so contagious, that I could not help but catch on and laugh too. I nodded my head as the mirth subsided. "Yes, I think you're right," I replied, and began to scan the room for a passing waiter. "Where are they? You'd think, logically, that they'd be hard to miss, carrying those tall glasses around. But somehow they manage to blend into the crowd…"

I turned to look at him, to see if he agreed with me, and found him already holding out a glass for me to take. "Here you are, my pet."

"Oh," I blurted out unthinkingly and took it from him. "You're very fast. Thank you."

"Perhaps I am merely practicing for the new job I must take on after we are married," he replied. "I have heard it is a rough profession, one that I must not shy away from, and since all rumors have some truth to them, I cannot help but prepare myself for the difficulties that may come so that I may better receive the awards."

"That is a very smart method," I said in agreement, sipping tentatively at my champagne. A sort of light feeling of weightlessness, as if gravity was seeping out of my skin, was beginning to form in my toes. "What is this new job you are preparing for?"

He gave me a crooked, tight-lipped smile "Why, being a _husband_, of course."

Once I restated all the things he had mentioned in my head, putting them together and weaving the words into the ideal, it made sense, the correlation. I smiled in return.

He leaned into my ear, his lips nearly touching the delicate skin there. I shivered, but tried to keep my composure. "Might I kiss you?" He whispered.

I nodded, exhaling shakily, and turned to face him. He did not close his eyes, but leaned in rather slowly so that I could clearly see their dark color within our close proximity. In the dim lighting of the corner we had backed ourselves into, they were engulfed in a sort of shade that was thrown over each of us. Still, I could trace the familiar gray in them, though the threads of green that I had not seen, nor ever imagined before in their very enigmatic, surprising color, stood stark against the hard, yet turbulent pretense he had erected in his soul-piercing, calculating stare.

The wispy little tendrils of his breath unfurled across my skin and I closed my eyes with anticipation, only to feel the anticlimactic graze of his lips against my cheek.

A smirk emerged from behind his amused expression as he saw the look on my face. Disappointed and, mostly, frustrated.

Before I could protest, however, we were intruded upon by what at first materialized as a wayward shadow. But the vague smell of masculine spice filled the small corner and I was instantly all too aware that Hans and I were no longer alone.

"Unterscharführer Landa, if I may interrupt," came a low, rather gruff voice. The words were polite, but the undercurrent came across as almost ornery, as if he bore a streak of arrogance in him that was at least a mile wide and couldn't be contained by the mere act of courteousness.

I gazed into the face of the specter that had been haunting the backwoods of my mind all throughout the night. The willow tree-like beauty of his face still stirred a feeling of unrest in me; his looks were not at all inviting, though lovely as they were.

"Ah! Oberscharführer Hellstrom!" Hans seemed to sing his vivacious greeting, outstretching his hand to welcome the young man before him. "You have abandoned your work to grace society with your presence at last! I am glad…the world is in desperate need of your wit and your charm."

"Regrettably, yes," the man called Hellstrom replied. "Your influence is quite persuasive, Herr Unterscharführer."

"So they tell me, dear boy," Hans smiled affably. "And how do you enjoy your liberation?"

"Society is," he paused, looking around at the lively company. His eyes narrowed to the slightest degree, a change in his expression that would only be seen by someone who was studying him closely, that suggested a lapse into contemplation. He was trying to decide whether or not he liked it all that much, but by the way his brow furrowed a little, I could only think that he much preferred slavery. "_Tolerable_, if not only sometimes amusing."

He looked to me for a fraction of a second.

"Only _tolerable_, Hellstrom? That is regrettable, considering its influence on your rank and the opinion of your superiors. Why, perhaps society is not at all unlike a weed. A dandelion, if you prefer the particulars," he said. "It is pretty to look at, yes, but it is not as agreeable as the typical flower. Its nature is to breed annoyance and spread like wildfire if not contained, and therefore men of your ambitious nature do not prefer the simplicity of the dandelion. You prefer, let us say, something more infinitely attractive that takes much more dedication and work to grow – an orchid, perhaps. But once you grow weary of growing your orchids, dear boy, you'll settle right into an affinity for the dandelions. For all their trouble, they can be quite admirable, especially in their dexterity in spreading their seeds of gossip and, therefore, its control across the street-walks of Berlin."

I smiled to myself at his choice of analogy.

"That is a curious metaphor, Landa." Hellstrom's brow dipped rapidly in a sort of makeshift confusion and then leveled again. "But not incorrect. Perhaps you are right, but for now I must despise it or I will fall too quickly into its snare."

His cold stare skimmed over me, sizing up my worthiness for such a man as Hans perhaps. "And who might this be?"

"Ah, Hellstrom," Hans crooned, lifting my hand and pressing his lips to it affectionately. "This is my dear, beautiful fiancé, Hanne Kessler."

"Kessler, hmm?" Hellstrom grunted and oustretched his hand, the signs of his reluctant obligation to social etiquette akin to that of a slave bowing to a strict master. I'd never seen a man look more pained to follow them, really.

I took it, half afraid he would bite, and he wrung it hard twice, his calluses chafing against the unmarred skin of my palms. Workers hands….he might have been a farmer, a poor man, before taking his less than desirable situation into his own hands, turning it around by applying for the Gestapo. "I've heard that name before. Standartenfuhrer Kessler - you are his daughter?"

"Yes, herr Oberscharführer, I am," I replied.

"And where is your father?" He asked, his cold, clear eyes the picture of equanimity and self-control as he scanned the whole of the company for my father's face. I had not known my father had ever collaborated with the Gestapo, but then again I knew very little about the militaristic goings-on, let alone the methods of the party itself.

"He left not yet a half an hour ago," I replied.

Hellstrom's focus averted to me, almost accusatory in the way his eyes narrowed slightly. As if I had caused his departure. "He is not unwell?"

"No, he is quite well," I said. "On the contrary, he was anxious to return home to his work. He has a lot of paperwork to attend to."

Hans gave a cry of delight as a waiter bowed to him and offered another glass of champagne. "Ah!" He waved the man off with a flick of his wrist, something he managed to do with an air of masculinity despite its usual prone to being a womanly charm. "Thank you, Hermann!"

The intimidating man then fixated his attention on Hans, who gave the impression that he was very much at ease despite the natural design of the man's impenetrable gaze to be, well…devastating and distressing. "Yes, paperwork, something _I _should be doing right this moment as I, _too, _have a mountain of interrogation forms to be signed and filled out and, most of all, _studied_."

"As do I, I'm sure, since you're looking at me in that all-assuming sort of way, Dieter," Hans knocked back a long draw of his champagne, smacking his lips together in approval. "But, one must be permitted to live once in a while, dear boy, or for you…once every three months. Even Hitler may take a breath without thinking of his plans for the new regime every now and then and sometimes the man even ventures out into society himself and enjoys the spoils of his victories! But, if it is leaving that you wish to do, please do not feel as if you are entitled to my opinion of it…you do look very tired, _herr, _and a bit of rest may do you a world of good."

"_Damn_ rest," Hellstrom replied with a snort. "I have paperwork. I have calls to make. I have a reputation amongst my superiors as a hard worker to earn. Rest can wait."

"If I may make a small suggestion, dear Hellstrom?" Hans asked gently, politely. "It would do you a _world _of good to get a bit of _rest. _Don't you agree?"

The way he proposed his advice did not come across as a recommendation at all…more like an order. The admonishing tone of a father who threatens his rowdy sons with a good tanning if they do not behave. Hellstrom looked a little unnerved himself by Hans' evocative tone, a little flash of irony that seemed to strike me as strange – the predator afraid of the prey?

A very strange notion.

But our predator did not retain his fear for long as the emotion melted away into the façade of rigid self-control that he bore like rich cologne. His body seemed to stretch and harden, his lips elongating into an even firmer, thinner line…if it was even possible.

Realistically, his mouth should've been swallowed whole but such an unyielding, haughty scowl.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Hanne," he smiled briefly, a wolfish expression. "I hope we will have the same pleasure in the future. For now, I must take my leave of this place. A good night to you, Herr Unterscharführer."

"_Adieu, _Oberscharführer Hellstrom_. _Anddo not forget…_carpe diem!" _

He nodded almost frigidly in response and we both watched the man leave. I downed the rest of my champagne, the weightless feeling spreading into my head, making me feel rather pleasantly dizzy and out of sorts.

Hans, still standing beside me, took notice.

"Still devastated by the spectacle dearest?" He asked, taking my arm and fitting it into the crook of his, doing this gently of course. I nodded in reply, pressing a finger to my temple in an attempt to steady the world beneath my feet.

"Ah, you are a bit light, I see, when it comes to your liquor," he chuckled amiably and led me from out of our private little corner. "Come, let us go and look at the flowers Frau Mendler has in her hall. She always has the most beautiful arrangements. Perhaps you may…_find_ them to your liking."

My heart thrilled a little at the thought of escaping the madness of the convening area, so to speak, where everyone stayed and did not even think of leaving as they sated themselves with gossip and arguments over Hitler's ideologies. Especially since even a murmur of the word flower had reached my sensitive ears, I was even more desperate to leave the place and find somewhere more comfortable to talk and bury myself in something more infinitely familiar. Hans escorted me across the room, our fine shoes treading damask carpets and expensive wood flooring.

I felt instantly relieved once we left the grand convention, liberated from the endless chatter and the coursing whispers that laced in and out of lighthearted banter and the deep-meaning addresses between good friends and complete strangers. It felt like a strange land in that place, something I had never paid much mind to in my past attendances. But they had all been household names, Frau Ackerman and Herr Schwartz. If it was all an intricate, life-like stage play, then at least I knew the actors, the setting, the script. Perhaps the end was never in sight, the final act, but at least the train of events was not alien to me. I knew what could happen, but not what would.

Here was foreign terrain.

Perhaps I wasn't even making sense. Here, in my own head. It didn't feel like sense, the way it swung back and forth in my brain like some sort of mindless pendulum.

But at least I had Hans.

In the quiet, I had to wonder why it was my father would say such a thing to him. In public, no less. Hans was not taking me away…if anything, he was delivering me. Saving me from the ceaseless line of prospects I'd have been made to endure if he had not been _the one. _Helping me get that flower shop I'd always wanted, ever since I tore my first flower from the cracks in the city streets, since I picked up my first book about exotic plants.

And yet he was treated with nothing but contempt on my father's side. It was all very unnecessary, treating his daughter's fiancé like he did and I vowed not to speak to him until he apologized.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, finally realizing I was still walking.

He pressed his finger to his lips, his gray-green eyes widening. "Shh," he whispered comically. "It's a secret. Not even _I _can know where our feet may take us. Let us wait and see, shall we?"

I nodded, laughter bubbling up in my stomach. He was attempting to cheer me up, the good man. The least I could do was go along with his plan, whatever it would turn out to be.

In a short few minutes, we had reached the end of one corridor and found ourselves facing a fork in the road. An ornate grand hall stood before us, a crystal and gold chandelier hanging overhead and throwing yellow-washed light and sickly looking shadows over us and the long parade of steps that comprised a pale-crème marble staircase. The banisters were polished, perhaps mahogany wood, and gleamed in the soft light, but the opaque wrought iron accents remained black and unchanged by the delicate illumination.

But Hans did not want to tackle the staircase, it seemed; he took my hand and led me to the left, down a dark hallway where only a shred of light spilled over the burnished floor.

"Are you sure it's all right to be wandering this place like it is our own?" I whispered, rather uncertain about poking through a house that does not belong to me.

He glanced back at me, ever amused. "Darling, the lady of the house gave us permission to roam the halls if we wished," he assured me, his voice soft and pliant. "Do not worry, my lovely one. If it comes to pass that we are caught in a room that we should not have even found, I may talk us out of a sticky situation. If the occasion calls for it."

The shred of light was most intriguing to him, as he continued to approach it with unwavering resolve. I loyally trailed after him, more out of obligation than interest myself as he still had my hand caught in his iron grasp. "Let us see what is in this place, hmm?"

I brandished my hand. "After you, my dear."

He smiled at me placidly and pushed open the door. Inside was a small study, decidedly quaint next to the elaborate décor of the rest of the house, and I immediately assumed that it was the _Herr Brigadeführer's_office we were trespassing in.

"Are you certain, Hans?" I asked.

"As certain as I'll ever be, my pet." He replied. His voice indicated it would be the end of the conversation and he would contribute no more to the subject, so I remained silent as he foraged through the tall, handsome bookcases that held a variety of hardback titles. Mostly they were political and military subjects, but once I ambled toward the desk, I saw _War and Peace _by Tolstoy sitting in a corner of the desk, looking untouched at first glance but, once I opened it up to look, I saw that it had been rummaged through quite a few times before.

Like a treasure chest.

"So, where are these arrangements you spoke of before?" I asked absently.

Without turning to face me, Hans replied with a simple, "there are none. In fact, Frau Mendler hates flowers. She's allergic to them, I believe, though she would never tell a soul that sort of embarrassing little detail. She's quite the mystery, that woman, much like you…"

I, however, did look at him out of disbelief. I rounded the square frame of the desk and walked a few steps before it, watching him as he reached the last bookcase, positioned by a sort of trophy mantelpiece. "Then why did you-"

He snapped a book shut and replaced it back in it slot. "Because I wanted to have you all to myself, dear girl. I didn't want to _share _you with the public eye."

"You mean, to talk?" I asked.

He chuckled, a sensual little sound that found their way into my ears and wracked my spine with provocative shivers.

His heel turned slowly as he moved to face me, his inscrutable countenance half consumed in the shadows that kept to the room. He drew nearer to me. "Your naiveté is refreshing, Hanne," he replied. "Certainly to talk. To talk in whatever language you'd prefer…"

"German, of course." I felt my feet struggling to find steady ground, moving my body away from the slinking predator that Hans had become.

He was not at all frightening, in fact he came alive in some sort of fiery allure that coursed throughout the entire room, but still I moved away from him until my back collided with the desk.

"Perhaps that's not what I meant, Hanne," he murmured, reaching me at last. He stood a few inches over me, even in my heels, and his chin came up to the crown of my head.

For a moment, I simply tried to remember how to breathe as he leaned into my tightly wound body, his heavenly scent choking all of my senses and burying them in a trance as he dipped his head into my shoulder, inhaling softly and tracing the hollow of my neck and the sensitive skin just beneath my ear with the tip of his nose.

All I could do was try not to moan in response.

Instead, I concentrated on the leather of his gloves that still lingered in his hands, an undercurrent beneath the traces of cinnamon and his musky aftershave – all of which encased me in a cloud of his presence as his hands lay flat against the surface of the desk. He was almost _omnipresent_.

"_Tu est si belle ce soir, ma cheri,_**_"_** he whispered into my ear, his cheek pressed against my temple. I felt his fingertips slide ever so softly over mine, trailing over the length of my arms until he reached my shoulders.

_Breathe. Breathe, Hanne. You __must __breathe._

His cheek grazed mine as he lifted his head to face me, eyes seeming to glow even hooded beneath his dark lashes. "_Puis-je t'embrasser?" _He asked, taking my chin into his hands and inclining his head. I couldn't understand what he had said, but nodded anyway; my heart began to thud dully against my ribs as he leaned closer and closer…

_Might I kiss you?_

I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply as his lips brushed softly against mine, the sensation like silk falling over bare skin. His hands crept like vines down my neck, my collarbone, the entirety of my body, one cupping the back of my head as the other traipsed down my sides. At last, after a moment of terrible teasing, he deepened the kiss.

I reeled back and forth, dizzy as ever, within this tantalizing new haven. The smell of his hair, his skin, his body all felt like a fine mist that had fallen from the sky itself, and every inch of him pressed too gently against me made me feel claustrophobic and unappeased and I wanted him closer so much that I softly tugged him to me. He did not respond to my provocation, merely continued to mold his mouth against mine in such adept ways that drove me nearly out of my mind, for lack of a better word.

I could hardly think of words at the moment.

What were words when such gestures and motions and beautiful _acts _existed?

In a moment, I was all too aware of his hand sweeping the length of my thigh, and the strange, rather painful sensation of his fingers inside of me. My head fell back and he bit down hard on the exposed flesh he found there and all I could do in response, in this current mindless state, was groan and rake my fingers through his dark blonde hair.

"Untouched, I see…" He nipped at my throat, breathing heavily against the skin. The damp warmth of his breath felt like no heaven I'd ever heard of. "All the more _pleasurable_ for the both of us."

I gasped when he removed his fingers, arching into his body as he laid me back against the desk.

"Now, darling, please do be patient," he groaned, his hands on my thighs and pushing agonizingly slow at the hem of my dress. Unsure of what to do, I kissed his neck to appear busy, but ended up enjoying the feel of his pulse and his vulnerable warmth and his human flesh underneath my teeth. "I know you must feel as if you will simply ignite with passionate fire and wither in the throes of such a need that will surely consume you if I do not act quickly, but I will exhaust you too early if I let you have _all _the power. If I let you _win _so easily like this."

The dress was at my belly; I could feel the fabric of his clothes against my bare skin.

"Now hush, my pet, and let me ravage you," he bit down hard on my throat and I cried out in a combination of exquisite pain and a cruel desire that I had never, ever felt before in the whole of my life.

He did not even bother removing the last of my dress, only tore the obstructing garments out of the way and breathed evenly against my lips.

It all happened so fast, the moment in which he pushed himself into me, that though I was not spared the pain, the memory of it was lost in the midst of the rush that came afterward. The back of my head collided with the desk, sending shockwaves of a self-inflicted ache throughout my temples, especially as Hans bit down on the same wounded spot on my neck, over and over and over. The warm pooling of blood oozing in trails down to the desk felt oddly detached from me, as if it were someone else that were bleeding beneath his vicious bite.

The excitement of feeling such a malevolent attack from him, instead, was much more palpable. My fingertips tore through his hair.

"Hans, _please_," I beseeched him.

His eyes twinkled impishly, mouth lingering in its slack, arousing desire. He shifted his hips forward once and it took every ounce of me to keep from screaming out; I failed miserably, the strangled sound echoing off the shadowed walls.

I unfurled beneath him like some newborn flower, every last fiber of my insides coming undone as if a dam had broken somewhere deep within and he had triggered its downfall. All of him, the sound of his impassioned voice as it was released into my skin, to be kept as a memory, a recollection of our scandalous library affair, the rhythm of his body over mine, brought me down and raised me up and made me cry out for more with each measured cadence of this strange new dance.

In the end, when I unraveled like the first spring flower and sprang forth from infertile ground, only I moaned his name. But his satisfied grunt and exhalation when he shuddered and found release, collapsing against me as if I were the safety of the rock after braving the feral cruelty of the sea's violent storm…it was enough for me.

* * *

It really was a miracle that we were never found.

For if we were, there would have been _the devil_ to pay.


End file.
